


The Mother of All Hangovers

by SHTWSPNSH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Azazel Possessing John Winchester, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Hallucinations, Hell Trauma, M/M, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Abuse, Restraints, Torture, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 75,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23340178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHTWSPNSH/pseuds/SHTWSPNSH
Summary: Sam and Rowena make a deal to “save” Dean, and Dean ends up paying the price with a rather unpleasant trip down memory lane.Hurt!Dean and Protective!Sammy.  SPOILER ALERTS for episodes S10E17-S10E19.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 59
Kudos: 63





	1. Drinking Alone

**Author's Note:**

> **This is another one of my stories from Fanfiction.net that I'm moving over here to the AO3.**
> 
> **To be perfectly honest, it's been quite a while since I've read this story from start to finish, so I tagged what I could remember, but I'll probably have to add in more as I read through before posting the new chapters.**
> 
> **I will definitely include any pertinent warnings for each chapter as I go though, so be on the lookout for anything trigger-worthy!**
> 
> **Other than that, I hope you enjoy the ride! :) I will try my best to post as often as I can until all twenty-five chapters are up.**

Sam woke to the annoying sound of his phone buzzing on the table two feet from his head. He groaned, burrowing further into his pillow, hoping that whomever was calling this early in the morning would just give up and go away. 

Sadly, they didn’t.

Eyes still sealed shut from fatigue, he reached out blindly and fumbled for his cell, knocking a few minor odds and ends onto the floor before finding the satanic piece of technology responsible for dragging him back to consciousness.

“’lo?” he grunted, already on the verge of drifting back to sleep.

“Good mornin’, sunshine! Did Ah wake ya? Ruin your beauty sleep, perhaps?”

Sam’s eyes flew open, instantly alert. “Rowena? How did you get this number?”

“Never mind tha’. Jus’ thought you’d like ta know, I’ve cracked th’ code an’ translated th’ spell ta get that mark off o’ your brother.”

“Seriously? O-okay… I’ll uh, I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Sam sat up and reached for his jeans, holding the phone to his ear with one shoulder as he struggled to get dressed.

Rowena chuckled, immediately putting Sam on edge. “Oh, don’ bother, Samuel. Ah won’ be there.”

Sam froze. “What?”

“Did ya really think that a book powerful enough to remove th’ mark o’ Cain wouldn’t have a simple spell to break those little charmed bracelets o’ yours?”

Sam clutched the phone so hard the plastic casing cracked. “Rowena, I swear if you…”

“Calm yourself, lad. I’ll still be fullfillin’ my end o’ the bargain. As a matter o’ fact, I’m on my way to seein’ your brother as we speak!”

“Wait, _now?!_ I haven’t had the chance to talk to him about all this yet! We can’t just…”

“No time like th’ present, Sammy. You best hurry if you don’t want ta miss all th’ fun!”

_CLICK._

“Rowena? Rowena! Damn it.” Sam shoved his phone into his pocket and grabbed his gun, checking that it was loaded before setting off towards his brother’s room.

Only as he made his way down the hall did he realize something felt off. He paused outside Dean’s closed door and leaned in, listening intently. 

He heard nothing but absolute silence, and his stomach turned to ice. 

For the past six nights, Dean’s desperate screams and pleas had jolted him out of a sound sleep, always around the same time like clockwork. But tonight? He hadn’t heard a peep.

Sam’s instincts were screaming at him to move, so with gun at the ready, he shoved his brother’s door open and found the room completely empty; the bed still perfectly made with military precision. 

Fearing the worst, Sam did a quick search of Dean’s belongings to find that his favorite jacket and boots were also missing.

Not taken then. Just gone.

“Damn it, Dean…”

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean was exhausted, and not just physically from the lack of sleep. Winchesters rarely got more than four hours of shut-eye a night, even on a good day, so he was no stranger to insomnia. 

But the bone-aching weariness that made even the task of breathing uncomfortable stemmed from a deep-seated mental and emotional turmoil that could only be alleviated by copious amounts of alcohol, and Dean knew just where to go for his self-prescribed medication.

He rapped his knuckles on the bar for the third time since he waltzed into the place half an hour ago and seconds later, his empty glass of whiskey was full again; best damned magic trick in the world.

Dean’s phone started buzzing in his pocket. He retrieved it, saw his brother’s name on the caller ID, and declined the call with a heavy sigh. 

He had hoped his absence would allow Sammy to actually sleep through the night for a change, but he supposed he should’ve known better.

Instead, his brother was going to kill him for taking off in the middle of the night without leaving a note behind. But in all fairness, it’s not like Sam had been completely upfront with him lately either, sneaking off to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what... 

Did he really think Dean wouldn’t notice how half-assed his excuses were? A French movie about a confused cockroach with miming skills? _Seriously?!_

Or how about all the times Sam would hurriedly end a phone conversation as soon as Dean walked into the room?

His brother had been lying to him for weeks, and even worse, he had somehow convinced Castiel to do the same. If Dean hadn’t been able to make Metatron talk, there was no way Hannah could’ve gotten the location of Cas’ grace out of him. 

As disturbing as it sounded, Crowley- the King of Hell and crossroad deals- seemed to be the only one being upfront with him these days. How wrong was that?

Dean emptied his glass and rapped on the counter top again, calling the young bartender back over.

“Do me a favor, Donny, and just keep ‘em comin’, huh?”

“Rough night?” Donny asked, concern written all over his face at Dean’s haggard appearance. He filled the glass once more, then settled his forearms on the bar, ready as always to listen to his patron’s problems.

The older Winchester forced a smile. “Nah. Just needed to get out for a while.”

Donny’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “At four o’clock in the morning?”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”

Dean tilted his glass slightly towards the bartender in salute. Donny shook his head in amusement. 

“Whatever you say, chief.” 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Sam grabbed his coat and stepped out of the bunker to find the Impala sitting right where his brother had parked her earlier. That meant Dean must’ve left on foot, which drastically narrowed Sam’s search radius. 

The nearest civilization was two and a half miles due north, and Sam would bet his computer that Dean was holed-up in one of its bars. He jumped into the front seat and revved the engine to life, dialing his brother’s cell for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Come on, man. Just answer your damned phone…” 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean rolled his eyes when he saw Sam’s name pop up on his phone yet again. He debated on answering just to make sure everything was okay, but Dean wasn’t ready to let go of his buzz just yet and Sam had a special talent for killing it. 

Plus, if he had wanted to talk, he wouldn’t have left in the first place.

Dean shut his phone off, shoving it back into his pocket.

“Trouble at home?” Donny asked, jutting his chin towards Dean’s now hidden cell.

The older Winchester let out a huff of laughter. “I guess you could say that.”

“Hey, speaking of trouble… What happened with those Abercrombie punks the other night? I stepped out for a quick smoke and when I came back in, the whole place was empty.”

Dean stared at the amber liquor in his glass, swirling it around to distract himself from the memories of those kids under Rowena’s control. More importantly, from the memories of what he had wanted to do to them thanks to the mark of Cain.

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Must’ve been past their bedtime.”

Donny leaned closer, keeping his voice conspiratorial. “You kicked their asses though, right?”

Dean could vividly recall standing over the leader of the frat boys, broken cue stick in hand and aimed at the kid’s heart. 

Every muscle in his body demanded that he submit to the mark and bathe his hands in the guy’s blood. And damn it, he wanted to do it. 

If that didn’t make him as bad as the monsters he hunted, he didn’t know what did.

His smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Who do you think is payin’ for tonight’s drinks?”

Donny let out a bark of laughter and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Just for that, next round’s on me.”

“Oh, on th’ contrary, dear,” a heavily accented female voice stated from a few feet behind Dean, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “Th’ next one’s on me.”

With a flick of Rowena’s wrist, Donny and the only other patron in the place- a middle-aged regular with a beer gut and no particular place to call home- slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Dean took another sip of his whiskey before setting his glass down with a resigned sigh, refusing to turn around on his stool. “Rowena,” he acknowledged, sounding bored. “I was wonderin’ when you were gonna show.”

“You’re sayin’ you were expectin’ me?” she asked, trying to keep the surprise out of her tone.

“I’m sayin’ I know my brother, and I know that when he gets desperate, he gets reckless.”

Dean finally turned to face the redheaded woman, leaning back on the counter nonchalantly.

“What ever deal you think you made? It ends here. You’re gonna stay away from Sam, and you’re gonna stay away from me. ‘cause next time I see you, I won’t hesitate to slit your throat, regardless of how many innocent hostages you surround yourself with. I’m not the hero you think I am.”

“Is that _you_ talkin’, o' the mark?” She looked him up and down calculatingly, making Dean’s skin crawl.

“You really wanna wait around to find out?”

“Well, handsome, th’ thing is… I’ve already held up my end o’ the bargain.”

Dean frowned at her, his heart beating uncomfortably fast in his chest. “You sayin’ you found a way to break the curse?”

Rowena smirked at him. “More or less.”

“I’m guessin’ it ain’t out of the kindness of your heart. So what did Sammy promise you in return, huh? No, wait. Let me guess… Your son’s head on a platter. Am I close?”

“Worked it out all by yourself now, did ya? And ta think, all this time, Ah thought Sam was supposed ta be the smart one!”

“He’s the trusting one. Me? Not so much. Which is why I gave Crowley a head’s up and told him to stay off the grid till I put you in irons you can’t escape from.”

Rowena shrugged, feigning indifference. “A small set back, perhaps, but it changes nothin’.”

“Really? Cause there’s no way Sammy’s gonna get to Crowley now, so he can’t hold up his end. Which means, unless you’re feelin’ particularly charitable…”

“Oh, Dean… Sam killin’ my son would’ve just been a perk. Crowley’s death is goin’ ta happen, one way or th’ other. It’s only a matter o’ time. But that whole bargain thing was just a distraction ta keep your brother from seein’ the bigger picture.”

Rowena stepped right up to Dean, a satisfied grin on her face, and Dean was suddenly finding it really hard to breathe as he looked up at her. “Which is?” he rasped out, his throat closing in on him, just as the establishment’s walls seemed to be doing.

“I’ll admit, Ah got a bit carried away last time we met. Ah was bein’ an overprotective mother, so sue me. But Ah didn’t come here ta try and kill ya again.”

She leaned forward, placing her hands on Dean’s knees so they were level with each other. “Th’ _real_ prize, my beautifully self-deprecatin’ boy, is _you_.”

TBC


	2. A Rock and a Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: I was planning to post once a week, but 25 weeks is a long time to get this story out there... So I'm just going to keep posting whenever I've got enough time to read through the next chapter and finalize any last minute edits! Enjoy!**

Dean froze, feeling like a mouse caught in a trap. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Rowena’s attention drifted over to his right forearm as if she could see through his partially rolled-up sleeve to the mark hidden beneath it. 

Dean glanced over as well, following the witch’s gaze, and he noticed that the very edge of the scar was visible.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he fought the urge to tug his sleeve down further; a nervous habit he had picked up in hopes of keeping the mark out of sight and mind wherever possible. 

Just knowing it was still there made his skin itch unbearably.

“As Ah promised, there is a _potential_ cure, Dean, but it’s a nasty piece o’ work.” 

Rowena leaned closer, her hands slowly traveling up his thighs and parting them, sliding her lithe body between his knees and forcing Dean to lean further back until the bar was digging painfully into his spine. 

“That curse is deeply embedded in your DNA, an’ any attempt to remove it will tear ya apart from th’ inside out. It’ll make Hell seem like a cozy vacation.”

Dean swallowed hard, the memories of his time in the underworld still much too close to the surface for his liking. 

The pain had been unbearable, but knowing he could never find escape in death was by far the worst part. 

And this time would be no different if the mark had anything to say about it. 

“Th’ spell will internalize th’ curse, pittin’ hero against demon, and only one o’ ya can survive. If th’ hero wins, th’ mark will be gone for good an’ you’ll go back to bein’ your mortal self.” She looked him up and down again, unimpressed. “Not very likely, if ya ask me.”

Dean couldn’t argue that. He felt himself slipping further and further into the void every single day, and the mark’s demand for blood was getting harder to ignore. 

He swallowed uncomfortably.

“And if the demon wins?”

“You’ll go on a killin’ spree that’ll make Cain look positively angelic in comparison. You’ll slice your way through everyone you’ve ever cared ab’ut, includin’ dear little Sammy, without battin’ an eye.”

“That’s never gonna happen,” Dean growled.

Rowena smirked. 

“Oh no? Let’s be honest here, Deano. Even now, Ah bet ya can feel th’ mark tryin’ ta take control. Th’ _purity_ o’ it coursin’ through your veins. Th’ baser instincts o’ kill or be killed. An’ every day, it sinks its claws that much deeper into ya. So you tell me, _hero_ , which part o’ ya currently holds th’ most sway?”

Dean let his anger and frustration roll over him, then dismissed it just as quickly. She was baiting him and he knew it. But why? He frowned at her, sensing an ulterior motive. 

“It almost sounds like you’re tryin’ to talk me _outta_ the cure, Rowena.”

“Not in th’ slightest, darlin’! If ya don’ try it, the mark’s gonna take over eventually anyway. Maybe not today or even this decade, but it’s only a matter o’ time.”

“So what’re you sayin’? Damned if I do, damned if I don’t?”

Rowena laughed. “Poetic, don’ ya think? I mean, they don’t call it ‘th’ Book o’ th’ Damned’ for nothin’.”

Dean paled instantly, his stomach lodging itself in his throat. “How do you know about that book?”

She rolled her eyes at him. 

“Honestly, Dean… Where do ya think th’ cure came from? Ah’ve been crackin’ th’ encryption on it for th’ past three days, without rest mind ya, thanks ta that dictator of a brother o’ yours. You’re welcome, by th’ way.”

“Bullshit,” Dean ground out through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into the edge of the bar so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “Sam torched that skin mag a week ago.”

Rowena snorted derisively. “Did he now? Fat lot o’ good it’d do ‘im seein’ as th’ book is protected by _magic_.”

Dean’s blood turned to ice. “What?”

“Th’ witch who wrote it was burned at th’ stake for creatin’ th’ damned thing. Did ya really think she wouldn’t’ve cast a spell to keep th’ same from happenin’ ta all her hard work? She may’ve been paranoid and buckets o’ crazy, but she wasn’t an idiot. Try all ya like, but that book can _not_ be destroyed.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he realized the extent of his brother’s betrayal. Even as he struggled to deny her words, deep down he knew them to be true. Sam’s mysterious behavior of late suddenly became crystal clear.

Rowena paused, taking in the myriad of emotions that were crossing Dean’s face- everything from hurt and disbelief to anger and disappointment. 

She wrapped one set of cold fingers around the heated skin of his exposed forearm, jolting him out of his stupor, then tutted at him sympathetically. 

“Ah take it Samuel neglected ta inform ya of his little plan? Not surprisin’, seein’ as you’ll be th’ one sufferin’ for it.” 

She began tracing aimless patterns along his skin from wrist to elbow, always stopping just shy of the mark and sending chills down his spine. 

“Ya see, every spell has a loophole, and this one’s no exception. There is a _third_ option, an’ it’s th’ only one where everybody wins.”

Dean was already shaking his head. “Save it, Rowena. Nothin’ good could ever come from that book. I don’t care what you found. It’s not worth the risk.”

He attempted to stand up but Rowena forced him back down with a hand against his chest, relishing the feeling of his heart pounding beneath her palm. 

“Don’ be so _dramatic_. It won’t cost ya anythin’ that you haven’t willingly sacrificed once or twice before. Honestly, what’s one little soul in th’ grand scheme o’ things?”

Dean huffed out an indignant laugh. “My soul? Really? _That’s_ your big pitch?”

“Only if ya want ta keep Samuel out o’ harm’s way… Ya see, if the mark wins, he’s as good as dead, along with anyone else who tries ta get in your way. 

“But while you’re fightin’ the curse from th’ inside, its hold over ya will be weakened. We’d have a very small window where you’d be mortal again, an’ if we strike fast enough, all this Cain business will finally be over.”

“Meaning option three is you kill me mid-cure,” Dean summed up flatly.

“Trust me, once you’ve reached that point, you’ll be beggin’ me ta end it for ya. Call it a mercy killin’.” 

She started straightening Dean’s overshirt but he latched onto her wrists and pulled them away from his body. 

“If I die, I’m bookin’ a one-way ticket back downstairs. How is that any better than just lettin’ the mark do its thing?”

“For one, ya wouldn’t be a threat ta th’ livin’ anymore. Sammy would be able ta grow old in peace. An’ you’d finally be rid o’ the mark which means ya can relax again. No more pain. No more walkin’ on eggshells, afraid ta lose control. Jus’ think of it as… a vacation.”

Dean chuckled humorlessly, his own words to Sam coming back to haunt him. “All this for the low price of my soul…”

“It’s a bit tarnished, granted, but as we’ve established, Ah don’t work for free. An’ Ah don’t trust your moose of a brother ta hold up his end o’ th’ bargain. Ah need assurances.”

“So you lay claim to me, and when it’s time to collect, you sic my ass on Crowley?”

“A bit crude, but essentially, yes. As Ah said, we all get what we want.”

“Right. And I thought my family had issues… Since when did witches start bidding on souls anyway? I thought only crossroads demons had the ability to make deals?”

“You’d be surprised what demons will tell ya when you’re th’ king’s mother. It’s a very simple transaction, really. An’ once my son is out o’ th’ way, there will be a new queen in town.”

“So that’s what this is really about. You wanna inherit the kingdom.”

Rowena pulled free of Dean’s grasp and laid both hands on his shoulders. “Ah want ta stop runnin’. Ta finally have a place ta call home. Surely ya can relate ta that?”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed, floundering for something witty to say and coming up blank. 

The witch lowered her voice conspiratorially, leaning in further until their noses were a mere two inches apart. 

“It would be your home too, Dean. You’d be by my side th’ whole time; th’ very first addition ta th’ new and improved order o’ th’ Knights o’ Hell.”

Dean’s eyes widened in horror at the implication.

“Someone’ll have ta lead them. Say yes, and Ah will guarantee your brother’s safety from you an’ anythin’ else that goes bump in th’ night. With Crowley outta th’ way, we can turn Hell into a demon’s paradise. 

“Ah could give ya open season on th’ lower level minions if huntin’ is what _truly_ makes ya happy. Jus’ tell me ya wish ta be free o’ th’ mark, we’ll seal the transaction, and all this will finally be over.”

“How long?” Dean forced out through numb vocal cords. At Rowena’s raised eyebrow, he attempted to clarify. “How long till you collect? If I make this deal, do I get my ten years, mark free?”

“Ah already told ya, handsome. If this is goin’ ta work, we need ta strike when the mark is vulnerable. Th’ sooner, th’ better.”

Dean was nodding without realizing what he was doing. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult and his head was starting to swim. 

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was on the verge of a panic attack.

Was this really how his legacy was going to end? Becoming a demonic lackey for the rest of his existence, or until Sammy finally caught up with him and put him down? 

The thought alone was enough to make him nauseous.

Rowena gripped his chin lightly, raising it till their gazes met once more. “Eternity is a long time, my boy. Th’ things Ah could teach ya…” 

She was practically sitting in Dean’s lap now, pressing her advantage with every word until her lips were a mere centimeter away from his, breathing in the same air he shakily exhaled as she waited for him to seal the deal.

Dean allowed his eyes to fall shut, resigned to his fate. 

_Sorry, Sammy…_

Sam came barreling through the door so unexpectedly, Dean nearly fell off his bar stool. He probably would’ve had Rowena not been anchoring him in place. 

“Get away from him! Now!” the younger Winchester barked, leveling his gun on the witch.

Rowena laughed. “You’re too late, Samuel. Th’ process has already begun.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review if you're enjoying the story so far! :)


	3. Dealing with Deals

Sam gaped at Rowena, looking like he had been slapped. “You didn’t…”

She smirked over her shoulder at him, smug as ever. “Oh, Ah _did_. An’ you’ve only got yourself ta blame, Samuel. Remember tha’ when your brother’s beggin’ ya ta end it for ‘im.”

Rowena patted Dean’s cheek in a horribly dysfunctional attempt at motherly compassion before backing away from him. “Might wanna brace yourself, handsome.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow at her in confusion, then his right arm seared with pain. 

He hissed, glancing down to find that the seemingly aimless path Rowena’s fingers had traced on his skin earlier hadn’t been random at all. 

She had drawn sigils on him, and they were currently glowing a fiery red.

“What the hell did you do to me?!” Dean demanded, cradling his burning arm against his chest.

“Ah’ve done what Ah was hired ta do. If you’ve got a problem with tha’, Ah suggest ya take it up with your brother. An’ Sam, Ah expect ya ta hold up your end o’ th’ bargain by week’s end.”

Sam scoffed. “Or what, Rowena? You just used up your only bargaining chip.”

“Do Ah look like Ah was born yesterday? Contingencies, Samuel. If ya fail, Ah won’ be makin’ good on my promise to your brother, an’ believe me, that’ll be bad for th’ whole world.”

Sam glanced between the witch and his brother, but Dean quickly dropped his gaze, setting off alarm bells in Sam’s head. “What promise?”

“All in good time. As for th’ sigils, Dean… They’ll fade soon enough. After tha’, th’ _real_ fun will begin.” 

She smiled sadistically at him, then winked. 

“Probably shouldn’t’ve pounded down tha’ last whiskey, Deano. I had Donny make it nice an’ special for ya. Th’ cure has a bit o’ a kick to it, don’ ya think? Maybe th’ liquor’ll help ta take th’ edge off. Not likely though!”

“You crazy bi… Ah!” Dean yelped as the mark itself burned bright and began to sizzle.

Rowena clapped her hands together with a broad smile. 

“Well, my work here is done. Ah wish Ah could stay for th’ fun, but Ah’ve got preparations ta make. You boys give a shout when you’re ready ta seal th’ deal, yeah?”

And with a snap of her fingers, she vanished in a puff of purple smoke.

Sam immediately tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans and jogged across the room to Dean’s side. 

“Hey, let me see…”

He reached out to check his brother’s arm but Dean jerked away. 

“I think you’ve helped enough already.”

Sam swallowed the hurt down, though he couldn’t fully keep the kicked puppy expression off his face.

“Dean, I…”

“Shut up, Sam,” the older Winchester growled, refusing to make eye contact as he shakily rose to his feet. “Just shut up and get us back to the bunker before the shit really hits the fan.”

He winced as he shouldered past his little brother and out the door. 

Sam bit his bottom lip and nodded, even though he knew Dean couldn’t see it with his back turned, then followed him out into the night looking like a man headed for the gallows.

The short drive back to the bunker seemed to take hours. Neither of the Winchester men said a word. 

Dean spent the whole time staring out the passenger side window. Whether he was deep in thought or just refusing to acknowledge his brother, Sam didn’t know.

The only sounds to be heard- aside from the rumbling engine- were Dean’s occasionally hitched breaths when the pain flared unexpectedly and caught him off guard. 

He also let slip a few muttered curses whenever Sam accidentally hit a pothole because he spent more time sending furtive glances his brother’s way than he did watching the road.

When they finally arrived, Dean was out of the car before Sam even had the chance to kill the engine. He slammed the door, whispering a silent apology to his baby, then disappeared behind the heavily fortified entrance.

Sam let out a slow breath and buried his head in his hands. Rowena had been right. This was all his fault.

For years, Sam had tried to distance himself from his family and their crazy occupation. All he ever wanted was a normal life and some independence.

Well, not anymore. 

Now he couldn’t imagine living without his brother by his side. They had been through so much together, even lost each other more times than either of them dared to count, and Sam absolutely refused to suffer through that agony again. 

He knew it was selfish, but he needed Dean like he needed air. His brother was his rock. His stability. His reason to keep fighting the good fight. 

And now, Dean was going to experience more pain than he ever had in his entire life simply because Sam was too weak to let him go.

He punched the steering wheel, venting his frustration.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Rowena was supposed to share all the details on how the cure worked after she had cracked the code, and Sam was supposed to have the time to discuss it with his brother. 

It was meant to be a failsafe option, not forced on Dean without his knowledge or consent.

Sam knew all too well what that felt like, ever since Dean had tricked him into letting an angel take up residence in his body after the gates of Hell fiasco. 

Dean had thought he was doing the right thing by his brother though, and Sam hoped that someday Dean would realize he was only trying to return the favor.

The older Winchester was never really good at looking after himself. 

He always put the lives of others before his own- particularly his little brother’s- even as a four-year-old child. The least Sam could do for him now was stay by Dean’s side and make sure he didn’t suffer through this alone.

With a heavy sigh filled with resolve, Sam collected himself, then entered the bunker just in time to hear Dean’s bedroom door slam in the distance. The silence that followed was so thick, Sam could practically see it hovering in the air. 

Deciding to give his brother a few minutes to cool down, Sam headed for the kitchen to brew up some coffee as a peace offering. The sky outside was finally starting to lighten and he had a feeling neither of them would be going back to sleep anytime soon.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean paced around his bedroom like a caged lion, thoughts flashing through his mind at the speed of light. He felt like a ticking time bomb with absolutely no idea how much life he had left on the clock.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple and yet he pulled his overshirt tighter around himself to fend off the chill that had taken up residence deep within his bones.

His nerve endings felt raw. Not quite enough to cause real pain yet, but grating enough to set his teeth on edge. His whole body seemed to be at odds with itself, and the contradictory messages were making his head spin. 

Or was that due to the rising fever?

The adrenaline flooding his system made it impossible to sit still, but the pacing was making his alcohol-filled stomach nauseous and his sleep-deprived body wanted nothing more than to collapse right where he stood.

The constantly increasing discomfort fueled his barely contained anger and indignation. He couldn’t believe Sam had gone behind his back yet again. After all their arguments about not keeping secrets… 

And Dean had been handling the mark just fine on his own. He didn’t need any help, and he sure as hell didn’t want any assistance from Rowena. After all, she had just tried to kill him not so long ago!

How could Sam trust that witch? He barely knew her, and he just jumped blindly into an agreement that would affect his brother’s life without Dean’s consent?

…Just like Dean had done with Gadreel. 

That realization took all the wind out of Dean’s sails, leaving him exhausted and feeling oddly numb. What right did he have to be mad when Sam was simply following in his footsteps?

He sank down onto the edge of his bed and massaged his throbbing eyes. Who was he kidding? He was losing control, and the mark was taking over. He wasn’t even sure his anger from before was really his own. 

Experience told him that if their situations had been reversed, Dean would be making deals with anyone and everyone to save his brother’s life. He had no right to judge Sam. 

And if things went south, which was almost a guarantee when the Winchesters were involved, he didn’t want to waste his last moments with Sam on a pointless argument.

Whether he wanted the cure or not was now a moot point. It was out of his hands. The cards had been dealt and he was all in, for better or worse. 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Sam paused outside his brother’s door for the second time that night, psyching himself up for the fight he expected to find on the other side of it. 

He had anticipated hearing the smashing of objects since that was how Dean tended to relieve his stress. 

The total silence caught him off guard.

He knocked softly, then heard a muffled response granting his entrance. He pushed the door open slowly, coffees stacked precariously in one hand and an apology ready on his lips.

“Dean? Look, I just…”

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean stated, barely audible as his head was in his hands.

Nevertheless, the mumbled words completely derailed Sam’s carefully planned speech. 

He frowned at his brother, taking in his slumped shoulders and weary expression. He looked… defeated.

Sam set the coffees down on Dean’s bedside table and eased himself onto the mattress next to his brother. “You don’t have any reason to be sorry, man.”

Dean lowered his hands and fidgeted with them in his lap. 

“Yeah, I do. What I said earlier… I’m the one who agreed to gettin’ the mark of Cain branded on my arm in the first place. I don’t have anyone to blame for this but myself.”

The younger Winchester shook his head. “We both know you did it for the right reason, Dean. Evil as the mark might be, it served its purpose.”

Dean rubbed absently at his forearm, the burning finally beginning to subside. “But I didn’t even consider the consequences. I never do. And look where that’s gotten us.”

Sam searched for something comforting to say, but only one thought kept playing over and over again in his mind. “At least we still have each other, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean stated softly, staring out into space. “For a little while, anyway.”

Sam’s eyes shot to his brother’s face, his heart stuttering in his chest. 

He suddenly understood why Dean wasn’t angry anymore. He was resigned. He had given up. And he had every intention of not making it through the cure alive. 

Dean’s apology was his way of saying goodbye.

“Don’t,” Sam growled past gritted teeth. “Don’t you _dare_ give up on me. We can beat this, Dean. There’s gotta be a way.”

Dean closed his eyes against the pain he heard in his little brother’s voice. The desperation. The pleading for his big brother to make everything okay again. 

A half-melted ice cream cone wasn’t going to fix this one though.

Dean finally turned to face his brother, resignation written all over his features.

“There’s only one option left here, Sam. This cure…” 

He swallowed hard before continuing. 

“This cure is gonna rip me apart from the inside out. I’ve gotta face all my inner demons to beat it, and I just don’t have that much fight left in me, man. There’re too many to count.”

“So… What then?” Sam snarled. “You’re just gonna quit? Let the mark take over instead of fightin’ back?”

Dean blinked back the mist that was clouding his vision and sniffed.

“The fight’s over, Sammy. We both knew this day would come eventually. I’m not gonna let the mark control me though. 

“Rowena offered me a deal that’ll keep you and the rest of the world safe from the curse. It’s the lesser of all evils, and as soon as I’m able to, I’m gonna take it. But first, we’ve gotta give her Crowley.”

TBC


	4. Double-Cross

Sam stared at his brother incredulously. “You’re joking, right? Dean, you were the one who told Crowley to go into hiding in the first place, remember? He’s not gonna be easy to find.”

Dean let out a slow breath and wiped a hand over his face, visibly pulling himself back together. When he looked back up at Sam, the lost little boy was gone and the stoic hunter had returned. After all, there was still work to be done.

He pulled his cell phone from his jeans and waved it in the air at Sam. “We won’t need to find him. He’ll come to me.” 

He pressed the speed dial number, then held the phone to his ear.

Sam huffed out a skeptical laugh. “He’s not gonna answer, Dean. He knows Rowena and I…”

Dean held up a finger, quickly silencing his brother. 

“Hey. Yeah, it’s me. I’ve got new information for you. Can you meet in half an hour? …Alright. I’ll text you the address.”

Dean ended the call, then turned back to the younger man, a victorious glint in his eyes. “Sorry, Sammy… What were you sayin’?”

Sam snorted derisively. “Don’t be too impressed with yourself, tough guy. The plan still isn’t gonna work.”

“Oh, no? And why’s that?” 

Dean finished sending his text, then stood to slide the phone back into his pocket before reaching for his jacket. Sam rose next to his brother, prepared to follow him out.

“He’s not an idiot, Dean. As soon as he realizes I’m with you, he’s gonna bolt.”

“Obviously, which is why you’re not comin’.”

Sam’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Like you said, dude… He’s not stupid enough to come anywhere near you. The only way I’m gonna get close enough to nab him is if I go it alone.”

Dean turned and exited his room, striding down the hallway towards the front door and checking his gun as he went. Sam was quick to waylay him, going so far as to cut him off with a hand pressed firmly into his chest.

“No way, Dean. We don’t know how Rowena’s cure is going to affect you yet. You’re not leavin’ here without backup, and you’re sure as hell not taking Crowley on by yourself.”

“I can handle it.” Dean tried to step around his brother, but Sam moved with him, pushing harder against his chest in warning.

The older Winchester sighed, reining in his frustration to keep his anger in check. “I’m _fine_ , Sam, okay? Whatever the hell Rowena did, it’s not affecting me yet.” _Much…_

He stubbornly ignored the bead of sweat that was running down his temple, which instantly negated his previous statement. Sam wasn’t impressed.

“Have you looked in a mirror lately? I’m actually amazed you’re still standing, and I’ve seen you walk on a broken leg before.”

The older man considered arguing his case, but quickly decided it just wasn’t worth it. His agitation was building and he needed some space before he did something he’d regret. 

The mark had his rage on a hair trigger lately and he didn’t want to be aimed at his brother when he went off.

“We don’t have time for this.” 

Dean brushed Sam’s restraining hand away before agilely circumventing him. He quickly returned his gun to the waistband of his jeans, nestling it securely against the small of his back before the mark could convince him to raise it to Sammy’s temple.

Sam followed on his heels, desperate to make his brother see sense, but completely unaware that he was provoking an angry bear.

“Dean, wait!” 

He reached out and grabbed Dean’s shoulder and that was all it took for Dean to snap. He immediately spun out of the hold and pinned his brother to the wall with a forearm against his throat.

He could feel Sam’s rapid pulse beating against his flesh and smell the fear coming off of him in waves. He reveled in it; a predator who finally captured his prey.

The mark was demanding blood. _Sam’s_ blood.

His own blood was pounding loudly in his ears and his entire body ached with the need to tear and rend flesh. He desperately needed an outlet or he was going to lose control.

“D-D’n?” Sam gasped out, fully expecting his brother’s eyes to turn black as he desperately pulled at the arm crushing his windpipe. 

Dean’s right hand balled into a fist and Sam’s eyes widened in fear. 

The older man heard the plea in Sammy’s voice and latched onto it, forcing the darkness back down. He zeroed in on the wall behind Sam and punched the plaster with all his strength, mere inches from his little brother’s head.

He could feel blood dripping between his fingers and ground his knuckles harder against the unforgiving material, using it as a peace offering to sate the mark’s hunger. 

It worked, for the moment. 

The burning desire to rip his brother apart abated just enough to give Dean back some control. He eased up on the pressure against Sam’s throat, allowing him to breathe, but the intense look he shot him kept Sam pinned to the wall all the same.

“Don’t push your luck, Sammy. I don’t wanna hurt you, but so help me, if you try to stop me again, I’ll knock you into next Tuesday for your own good. Do you understand?”

Sam was too stunned to respond, so he just nodded his head.

“Good.” Dean released him, taking a brief second to make sure he hadn’t injured his brother more than a bruised ego, then started walking away again.

He finally reached the salvation of the front door, jacket in hand, and turned back to share one last apologetic glance with Sam who hadn’t dared to move. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Dean stated softly. “Don’t follow me.”

With that, he pulled the door open and disappeared into the early morning sun.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Sam sagged against the wall as the door closed behind his brother and swallowed hard. He winced, bringing up a hand to massage his throbbing throat. 

For the first time in his life, he had actually been scared of Dean. 

_No, not Dean. The thing controlling him._

He let out a shaky breath, then turned his head and took a closer look at the bloodied dent in the wall. That could’ve been his skull…

But it wasn’t. Dean had a free shot and he hadn’t taken it. Realization hit Sam like a ton of bricks.

His brother hadn’t punched the wall to threaten him, he had done it to _save_ him, venting the mark’s frustrations on inanimate objects instead of people. Dean was still in there, hurting himself to protect the ones he loved. 

Sam wasn’t about to let that stand either, even if it meant he had to chain Dean up in the basement again to keep him safe till they came up with a better solution. 

But first, he had to find his brother and bring him back before he went and pulled another “Dean Winchester” somewhere.

He pushed off the wall and made for his computer. He knew Dean would’ve turned off his GPS as soon as he got in the car, but he could still hack into his brother’s cell records and find out which location he sent to Crowley. 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Once Dean was on the road and a safe enough distance away from prying eyes and ears, he pulled over, dismantled his primary cell to ensure his brother couldn’t track it, then fished his other, _other_ phone out of the glove compartment.

“Hey. Me again. Change of plans…”

He knew Geek Boy would find a way to get a hold of the location he sent Crowley, which is why he chose a place in the opposite direction from where he actually intended on meeting up with the demon. 

If Sam tried to follow… Well, the further away his brother was, the safer he’d be. 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Sam pulled up Dean’s text history and Googled the location. It was some random barn out in the middle of nowhere; a perfect place for taking on the King of Hell. 

It was also the last place Dean was going to be. 

Sam knew his brother had left an easy trail hoping he’d follow it, but he had literally known Dean his whole life. All those years of studying his big brother and trying to emulate him were about to pay off. 

He started looking for secluded areas on the other side of town, then grabbed his phone from the table.

_“Sam?”_

“Cas, Dean is gonna try to take on Crowley himself. I’ve got a handful of possible locations, so I need you to help me narrow it down. If you find him, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid till I get there, alright? I’m on my way.”

_“Don’t bother. I’m already closing in, and when I find him, I will bring him straight to you. I suggest you prepare the basement for his arrival. He will not be pleased.”_

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean slowly got out of the car and had a good look around. 

The abandoned warehouse wasn’t his first choice, but that was sort of the point. Sam knew him too well, and if he didn’t fall for the fake address, Dean didn’t want to make it easy for his brother to find him.

Of the top ten locations he’d considered using to meet up with Crowley, this place was number six. It should buy him enough time to do what needed to be done.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with his jacket sleeve, then entered the building. He didn’t have to wait long for his partner in crime to show. 

The King appeared at the other end of the warehouse, keeping his distance and playing it safe. The demon looked him up and down, then an expression crossed his face that, if Dean hadn’t known any better, resembled concern.

“You look like Death. No, really. Have you met the guy? Too pasty and gaunt for my taste… You really should get some more sun.”

Dean rolled his eyes, ignoring how much that made his head throb. “You done?” he drawled.

“Depends. Are you here ta kill me, Squirrel?”

“No. I’m here to make a deal.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Do tell.”

“Seems like my soul is up for grabs again. Rowena already called dibs, but I figured the devil you know…”

Dean could see the wheels turning in the demon’s mind as he tried to piece together Rowena’s master plan. “Mother Dearest wants you to be her pet?”

“Oh, she wants a lot more than that. She wants Hell, she wants you dead, and she wants to reinstate the Knights, with me as their leader.”

“Ambitious, I must say. Still, I can’t see why you’d ever agree to such a thing… Unless, of course, she’s holdin’ something over you.”

Dean smirked at Crowley. 

“Perceptive. Long story short, your mom slipped me the cure earlier, which will weaken the mark enough to make me mortal again. For a little while, anyway. I need to permanently die before the damned thing reboots, or we’ll be back at square one.”

Crowley sauntered forward, his confidence increasing as the plot began to unfold. 

“And you’re assuming that your death will result in a one-way ticket back to my personal abode, so you’re hoping for a caretaker to keep you on a leash?”

“That about sums it up, yeah. Swear ta me that Sammy will stay off limits, including from me, and I’ll sign whatever you want.”

Crowley stopped directly in front of Dean, looking him dead in the eye and anticipating a double-cross that never came. “Just like that?” he hedged.

“Just like that. Oh, and one more condition… We kill the bitch that spawned you before she can meddle in anything else.”

“No argument here on that last part,” Crowley stated. “But as for the first… I’m sorry, Squirrel. No can do.”

Dean frowned, completely taken aback. “What? Why?”

“For one, I remember your demon days, and the novelty wore off pretty quickly, no offense. As much fun as it’d be to play puppeteer to your puppet, we both know you’re incapable of following orders if you disagree with them, and I can’t afford to have anarchy in Hell right now. Rowena has already made quite a mess of it.”

“I told you, as long as Sam is safe, I don’t care what else you want me to do.”

Crowley tutted at him with a shake of his head. 

“We both know that’s a flat out lie, Dean. Even with the bloody ma’k of Cain, you still manage to always come out the hero. Which brings me to my second point.”

Dean waited a second then spread his arms open with impatience. “Which is?”

“I’ve already made a deal of my own. Ya see, your feathered boyfriend is back at full strength and I don’t particularly want to be on his bad side right out of the gate.” 

He lifted his right hand, pressing his thumb and middle finger together.

Dean held up a hand in front of himself. “Whoa, hang on. Let’s just talk about this for a sec…”

“I’m sorry, Dean. Someday you’ll thank me for this.” 

Crowley snapped his fingers and cold dread flooded through Dean’s stomach.

He instinctively took a step back and startled when he was brought up short by a broad chest. A strong arm wrapped around his torso, easily restraining him.

“He’s all yours, Feathers. As promised,” Crowley said with a mock bow.

“Time to go home, Dean,” a gruff voice stated next to his ear.

"Cas, wait... I..."

Two warm fingers suddenly pressed against his forehead and Dean was instantly thrown into darkness.

TBC


	5. Promise Me

Sam sat at the main table, nervously chewing on a thumbnail as his knee bounced uncontrollably and his mind flooded with unanswerable questions. 

Needless to say, he wasn’t very good at being sidelined.

Where was his brother? Was he okay? What if Cas didn’t find him in time? What if the cure killed him instead of fixing him? What if…?

When Cas suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, Dean’s arm draped around his neck to keep his limp body from hitting the floor, Sam jumped up from his chair and ran over to meet them.

“What happened?! Is he okay?” he demanded, gently raising Dean’s head from where it rested on his chest to check for any new injuries that would explain his current state of unconsciousness.

“He’s fine,” Cas replied shortly, anger clearly bubbling just below the surface. 

At Sam’s raised eyebrow, the angel elaborated. 

“He would not have come back with me willingly, so I was forced to… ‘whammy’ him for transportation purposes. I promise I’ll explain everything, Sam, but your brother won’t be out for long.”

Sam swallowed down his multitude of questions in light of the situation and focused on what needed to be done.

“Right. Let’s get him downstairs then.” 

Sam took Dean’s other wrist and eased it across his shoulders, then wrapped his free arm around his brother’s waist, mirroring Cas’ pose and helping to share Dean’s unconscious weight.

Sam was taken aback by how thin his brother had gotten over the past few months. 

Dean hid it well beneath the multiple layers of clothing, but now that Sam could feel his brother’s fragile bones against his fingertips, he was afraid any excess pressure would snap the man like a twig.

Carefully, he and Cas maneuvered Dean down into the basement to prepare for the long haul. As soon as the older Winchester was safely secured and resting peacefully on the cot his brother had set up for him, Sam turned to the agitated angel.

“Start talkin’, Cas. I want to know everything.”

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean woke with a start, finding himself staring up at a familiar ceiling from the flat of his back with no clue as to how he had gotten there. 

Last he knew, he had been in the middle of a conversation with Crowley, then… Nothing.

He tried to sit up, but quickly discovered that he was bound to the cot by five-point restraints.

“What the hell…?”

A heavy hand suddenly landed on his chest, helping to steady him as well as guide him back down.

“Take it easy, Dean. You’re alright,” Sam stated softly, sitting backwards on a chair to Dean’s left. “Sorry about the cuffs, but you didn’t leave us much choice.”

Dean turned his head and locked eyes with his little brother who looked apologetic but resigned. Dean frowned in confusion.

“Us?” 

It took a moment for the pieces to fall into place, but then Dean remembered someone appearing directly behind him at the warehouse, a deep voice next to his ear, and a gentle touch to his forehead. 

His eyes widened in realization. 

“…Cas?”

“He’s upstairs, wearing a hole in the floor. I told him to give us a minute. He’s uh… He’s pretty pissed.”

Dean could relate. He dropped his head back down to the cot with a dull thunk. “I can’t believe Crowley gave me up.”

“I can’t believe you were tryin’ to sell your soul again. What were you thinking, Dean?” 

“Not like it really matters, Sammy. We’re in the homestretch here, and I think we both know where my soul is headed once I kick the bucket. Might as well try to get the best deal out of it first. I was in the middle of negotiating the seventy-two virgins when Cas showed up and spoiled the whole thing…”

Sam scoffed, then shook his head sadly. “Why do you always do that?”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “Do what?”

“Make jokes when your life is on the line.”

“Must be cause I’ve got a deadly sense of humor.” The older Winchester waggled his eyebrows at his little brother who immediately countered with the sad puppy eyes.

“Dean, come on.”

Dean let out a slow breath and rolled his head towards the ceiling again, unable to have a serious discussion face-to-face. “I dunno, Sam. Chick flick moments were always more your thing. They weren’t exactly in the ‘Winchester Training Manual’.”

Sam nodded, looking like his worst fears had been confirmed. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he stated so quietly, Dean wasn’t sure he heard right.

He turned back to his brother, more than a little confused. “For what?”

“For the life you had to lead. The things you’ve seen and done, the people you’ve lost, the pain you’ve endured… You didn’t even get to have a childhood, man.”

“I had four years to be a kid, Sammy. That was more than you ever got, and you lost just as many people as I did so don’t be rollin’ out the pity parade for me.”

“This isn’t about pity, Dean. It’s about righting a wrong. I used to blame Dad for making me your responsibility when we were growing up, but then I realized, you would’ve done it anyway cause that’s just the kind of guy you are.”

“That’s why I’m an awesome big brother,” Dean smirked, trying and failing to ignore the pools forming in Sam’s eyes.

Sam let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and a tear slid down his cheek. 

“You are. You’re the best. And it’s my fault you didn’t get to live the life you deserved. I’m so damned sorry for being the anchor around your neck, Dean.”

“Whoa, hey… What’re you talkin’ about?”

“You’ve sacrificed everything for me since the day I was born, and because you were so focused on keeping me safe and happy, you never developed any sense of self-preservation. 

"You’re always willing to throw yourself onto the fire if it means saving everyone else from gettin’ burnt, and I love you for that, Dean. I really do. You’ve got a heart of gold, man, but just once, I’d like to see you actually fight for your own life instead of what’s best for the rest of the world.”

Dean swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. 

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Sammy. Death doesn’t scare me anymore. What scares me is knowin’ there won’t be anyone to watch your back when I’m gone. I’ve seen you in action, little brother, and you could use all the help you can get. Not to mention you’ll never find another wingman with my level of skills. Them’s tough breaks.”

Sam snorted, brushing away the tear track. “See? There you go again.”

“All part of my undeniable charm.” Dean winked at his brother, then sobered a bit. “You’re gonna be alright, Sammy. I’m proud of the man you’ve become. Dad would be too.”

Sam nodded, blinking heavily to keep more tears from falling. He cleared his throat before responding.

“I know I’ve failed you in the past and I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I’m gonna do right by you this time, Dean. Cas and I, we’re gonna find a way to beat this, and I’m gonna save you.”

Dean closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he fought back his own tears. “Sam…”

“Dean, please. Just listen. I have no right to ask this of you after everything you’ve done, but… I need you to promise me you won’t give up, okay? I need you to fight till you’ve got nothin’ left, cause as selfish as it is, I’m not ready to lose you again.”

Dean clenched his jaw and shifted uncomfortably. 

It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to die. His job wasn’t done yet, and the thought of going back to Hell for eternity resulted in countless nights of waking to cold sweats and uncontrollable shaking. 

But the fear of what he would become if the mark survived the cure was worse. Not to mention the suffering he would have to endure before the curse was finally ready to let him go…

“Dean?”

“I promise,” the older man forced out past a closed throat. 

After all, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his little brother.

Sam gave him a watery smile and reached out to squeeze his shoulder again, this time in gratitude. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah,” the older man acknowledged with a sniff, having run out of things to say. He shifted again with a grimace, tugging against his restraints pointedly. “Think we can lose these now?”

Sam winced. “Sorry, man. We can’t take any chances. You tend to turn into a flight risk when you get desperate, so you’re wearin’ those for the long haul.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, Sammy… It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to go. What if I need to use the bathroom?”

“Excellent point. Guess we should get a catheter ready, huh?”

Dean blanched. “Don’t you dare!”

Sam shrugged half-heartedly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s either that or a bedpan, Dean. I suppose I could go buy you some Depends…”

“I think I’ll just hold it, thanks,” Dean groused.

“Suit yourself.” Sam clapped his brother on the shoulder and stood up. “Let me know if you change your mind. Till then, try to get some sleep. I’ll hold Cas off for as long as I...” Sam trailed off, his attention locked onto Dean’s right arm. “Dean?”

A blue light was emanating from the older man's forearm, right where the mark was imprinted. 

Dean lifted his head to follow his brother’s gaze and frowned in confusion. He could feel a warm glow against his skin, but other than that, it didn’t seem to be causing him any pain.

Sam made his way around the cot before Dean could even blink. He gripped his brother’s wrist and shoved his shirtsleeve up past his elbow, squinting as the full brightness assaulted his eyes.

Dean hissed as the heat from the mark began to increase, and then the mark slowly integrated itself into his blood stream. 

The brothers watched in horror as the blue light streaked its way through Dean’s veins, then disappeared entirely…

…Along with the Mark of Cain.

Dean hardly dared to breathe, adrenaline forcing his heart to pound in his throat. “Is that it?” he whispered when everything went quiet again and the burning sensation died away.

Sam continued to stare at his brother’s unmarred forearm, running his fingers over the skin gently in case his eyes were playing tricks on him. “I… I dunno…”

That’s when the first pain hit.

Dean’s jaw snapped shut so tightly he was lucky he didn’t break any teeth as his body went rigid and arched off the cot. The fire was inside of him, coursing through every muscle, every vein, and every molecule.

He would’ve screamed had the pain not robbed him of all the oxygen in his lungs.

“Dean?!” Sam cried out in horror as his brother continued to writhe in agony. His hands hovered uselessly over Dean’s body, afraid to touch him. 

What if he made it worse? Should he try to knock him out? Would Dean ever wake up again if he did? What if this was the end and Sam’s promise to save his brother was too little, too late?

Sam turned his head towards the door and shouted at the top of his lungs. “CAS!!!”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review if you're enjoying this story! I'd love to hear your thoughts :)


	6. Fever Dreams

Cas appeared by Sam’s side half a second later, his anger at Dean quickly giving way to worry as he took in the sight of the man seizing less than a foot away from him.

“What happened?” he demanded, his eyes never leaving the older Winchester’s painfully contorting body.

“I have no idea!” Sam shouted back, clearly on the verge of panicking. “The mark disappeared and he just started convulsing!”

The angel reached out and checked Dean’s forearm for himself, then placed his palm against Dean’s creased forehead, closing his eyes in concentration. 

He caught a fleeting glimpse of the agony searing through the man’s body and broke their connection with a sharp gasp, stumbling away and clutching at his wrist.

“Well?!” Sam pressed, watching Cas intently.

“…He’s going through Hell,” Cas replied, his voice subdued.

“Yeah, I can see that!” the younger man shot back, throwing caution to the winds and gripping his brother by the shoulders to hold him down before he cracked his head on the thinly padded cot.

“No, Sam, you don’t understand. I mean Dean’s mentally revisiting his time in Hell.”

All the color drained from Sam’s face as he gaped at the angel over his shoulder. “What?”

Cas dropped his gaze, vividly recalling his own horrific battle through the bowels of the pit and the first time he ever laid eyes on the righteous man he was sent there to save. 

“When I touched his forehead, I… I saw Alistair torturing your brother on the rack. The pain he’s feeling right now… It’s immeasurable.”

Sam’s eyes widened in horror. “Cas, you’ve gotta do something. Bring him out of it! Now!”

“As far as I can tell, he’s not being harmed physically, Sam. He’s battling his inner demons. If I try to interfere with the cure, I could do more harm than good.”

“I don’t care! There has to be something you can do!”

“I am open to suggestions,” Cas huffed back agitatedly, never having felt more useless. 

Sam let out a frustrated growl and turned his back on the angel, then slapped harshly at his brother’s cheek. “Come on, Dean… Wake up!”

Dean’s wrists were starting to bleed where the restraints cut into his skin, his fingernails carving deep crescents into his palms. 

His whole body was covered in a sheen of sweat as he struggled to breathe, pulling in short gasps wherever possible. It felt like his flesh was on fire and every nerve was being hacked to shreds by a dull blade.

He tried to twist to the side and curl into a ball but the restraints prevented any such relief. He pulled harder against them in desperation and a bolt of agony shot down his back, forcing him to arch up again, this time with a pained cry that came straight from his tortured soul.

Then everything stopped just as quickly as it had started. Dean collapsed back onto the cot panting heavily, his long eyelashes fluttering as he stubbornly clung onto consciousness.

Tears were streaming unchecked down his temples and into his hairline, an almost inaudible whimper escaping his chapped lips while his defenses were down.

Sam gently cupped his brother’s feverish face, making a mental note of how much heat was emanating from Dean’s body while he rubbed his thumbs soothingly over his brother’s cheekbones, subtly wiping away the tear tracks. 

“Dean? Hey, can you hear me?”

“S-S’mmy?” Dean hissed on a hitched breath, struggling to open his eyes.

“I’m right here, Dean. ‘m right here.”

Dean finally managed to raise his eyelids high enough to squint but his vision was still blurred, his head throbbing mercilessly. 

He tried to sit up and felt panic flood his system when he realized he couldn’t.

“Wh’re ‘m I? Wha’ happ’ned?” 

“You’re still in the bunker. Whatever you were seein’, it wasn’t real, okay? The cure’s just messin’ with your head.”

“Felt pretty damn real.” 

Dean dropped his head back to the cot, squeezing his eyes shut again and clenching his jaw on a groan as a painful tremor wormed its way down his spine.

Sam rested his palm over Dean’s heart, feeling it pound against his ribcage.

“Easy, Dean. Just breathe. It’ll pass.” _Please, let it pass…_

Sam looked to Cas for help who immediately stepped forward and touched the back of Dean’s right hand with two fingers. When nothing happened, he stared down at his own hand forlornly.

“It’s not working.”

Regardless of whether it was due to the curse or the cure, he wasn’t able to take Dean’s pain away or heal his wounds. Instead, he did the next best thing and placed his hand gently over Dean’s, making sure he knew he wasn’t alone in all this.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“’s okay, Cas,” Dean breathed out shakily. “’s not that bad.”

As if to make a liar out of him, a harsh shudder suddenly coursed through Dean’s body, forcing him to bite his bottom lip as the movement temporarily re-ignited the pain again.

Taking advantage of his brother’s firmly shut eyes, Sam quickly reached out with his free hand and rested the back of it against Dean’s forehead. 

As expected, Dean jerked away with an annoyed grunt, but not before Sam was able to verify that Dean’s temperature was through the roof.

“He’s burnin’ up, Cas.”

“I’ll go get some ice and washcloths.”

Sam nodded, but the angel was already gone, leaving behind the echo of fluttering wings in his wake. Man, it was good to have him back at full power... 

Sam turned his attention back to his brother. “Still with me, Dean?”

Dean swallowed dryly. “Unfortunately,” he rasped back, followed by a feeble cough.

“Hang on.” 

Sam stepped out of the room just long enough to grab a water bottle and the med kit from the basement’s storage closet. 

When he got back, he unbuckled the strap that was tied across Dean’s shoulders and helped his brother lift his head high enough to drink. 

“Small sips, okay?” he coached.

“Dude, I got it,” Dean grumbled back, having been through this charade more times than he cared to admit. That, and he was never one for being babied. 

Once he had his fill, he pulled away and laid his head back down wearily. “Well that pretty much sucked...”

Sam snorted, running a hand through his unruly hair. 

“Ya think? You scared the hell outta me, man.” He looked his brother up and down, noting the pinched expression on his face and how tensely he was holding himself. “How bad is it really?”

“I already told you, it’s not-” Dean began, but Sam cut him off.

“The _truth_ , Dean. Just tell me the truth.”

Dean grimaced as he forced his clenched fists to relax, easing his nails out of his palms with a slow exhale. “It’s manageable.”

“So… Like a nine outta ten?”

Dean shrugged, too tired to downplay the aches in his body. “I’d say I’ve had worse, but considerin’ I was dead and regenerating in Hell last time, I don’t think it really counts.”

Sam glanced at the med kit he had placed on the chair behind him. “Want me to give you somethin’ for it?”

“Nah. It’s fading on its own already. Save the good stuff for when it really gets bad.”

Sam nodded solemnly. “Wanna talk about it?” Dean quirked an eyebrow at him, forcing his brother to elaborate. “The things you saw. Being back in Hell again.”

Dean swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. “How did you…?”

“Cas. I guess he tried to pull you out of it and caught a glimpse.” Sam could see his brother’s mental walls being fortified as his eyes hardened and his jaw set, but he still had to ask. “What did Alistair do to you, Dean?”

Dean turned his head away, trying not to think about the worst forty years he had ever endured. “Best to leave the past in the past, Sammy.”

“But it’s _not_ in the past anymore, Dean. It’s happening again, right here and now, and we need to know what we’re up against so we can prepare for it.”

“I said drop it, Sam,” Dean responded quietly and Sam knew that was the end of the conversation. At least, for now.

An awkward silence fell over the room as Sam conceded to his brother’s wishes, then both boys jumped as Cas reappeared next to Dean’s cot, his arms laden with all manner of items to fight off a high fever. 

“I’ve got the ice, Sam. I also brought mustard seeds, olive oil, garlic, artichokes, peppermint, yarrow, and onions. Did I forget anything?”

Sam fought hard to stifle a laugh after seeing his brother’s horrified look of disgust. “I uh… I think you pretty much covered it, Cas.”

“Keep him away from me, Sam,” Dean ordered under his breath and Sam quickly covered his snort with a few well-timed coughs. 

Luckily, Cas didn’t seem to notice as he bustled around, setting up his supplies. He was clearly determined to help, one way or another.

Cas stepped up to Dean’s right side again and began dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a wet washcloth. Dean’s nose immediately wrinkled.

“Ugh, what the hell is that smell?”

“Apple cider vinegar. It does wonders for the body. Shall I prepare a sponge bath as well? I saw the proper technique used on television once.”

Dean groaned. “I swear ta God, Cas, if you say you learned it from the Pizza Man, you may as well just kill me now.”

Cas paused, staring down at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why would the pizza man offer sponge baths?”

Dean’s face was priceless. 

Sam patted his brother’s shoulder in mock sympathy. “Forget it, Cas. He’s delirious.”

The angel’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “Right. Of course. I have a remedy for that as well...”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m alright, Cas. Just _relax_ , will ya? I’m startin’ to think you’re worse than Sammy with the mother-hennin’.”

“Well maybe if you stopped gettin’ yourself hurt all the damned time, we wouldn’t have to worry about you so much,” Sam fired back, grimacing when he got a closer look at the bloodied cuff around his brother’s left wrist. “Case in point.” 

He began unbuckling the restraint so he could properly bandage the wound.

“Don’t,” Dean warned, jerking his hand out of Sam’s grasp.

Sam frowned down at his brother. “Why not?”

“I can still feel it. The mark’s not gone, Sam. We can’t risk lettin’ me loose, remember?”

Sam took a firmer hold on his brother’s wrist, carefully easing the buckle free. “I’ll take my chances.”

Dean winced when Sam finally freed his arm and prodded at the torn flesh, half expecting someone to stuff salt in the open wound. 

_This isn’t Hell, this isn’t Hell, this isn’t Hell…_

Falling back on his medical field training, Sam unwrapped a sterile bandage from the kit and used it to clear away some of the blood so he could see the cuts more clearly.

“Good news, Dean. They’re not as deep as they look. I don’t think you’re gonna need stitches.”

Dean’s mind inevitably floated back to memories that still haunted his darkest nightmares. Memories that- thanks to the cure- were now painfully fresh in his mind, right down to the smallest of details.

Memories of people with their mouths stitched shut so they couldn’t scream as they endured endless agony at the hands of Alistair. Memories of Frankenstein-esque monsters walking around with Hellhound limbs where their arms and legs used to be.

Memories of his own eyes being stitched closed or gouged out so he couldn’t see the strips of skin being carved from his body… 

But there was no ignoring the squelching sound of flesh hitting the ground afterwards. Piece. By. Piece.

_They sliced, and carved, and tore at me in ways that you… Until there was nothin’ left._

Dean’s stomach immediately rebelled and he pulled free of Sam’s grasp once more, rolling towards Cas just in time to lose the water he had just drank all over the floor inches from the angel’s feet.

To Cas’s credit, he didn’t jump back or look disgusted. Instead, he put down the cloth he had been using and cradled Dean’s shaking body to his own for added support while patiently waiting for his nausea to subside.

Sam nearly threw up as well when he saw the dark red lines crisscrossing the back of his brother’s gray shirt. 

Cas, who had just seen the blood stains on the cot where Dean had been laying, met Sam’s gaze with barely contained fury in his eyes.

The pain Dean had been feeling _hadn’t_ just been in his head after all.

“Oh god, Dean…”

TBC


	7. Back-Stabbing Pains

The older Winchester continued to dry heave long after his stomach was emptied. He clutched weakly at the trench coat in front of him with his free hand, both for balance and for comfort. 

Cas gently gripped Dean’s shoulder to help stabilize him as the man suffered in silence through the worst of it, fully aware that he was gripping the same arm that once bore his very own mark. 

He had pulled Dean out of the depths of Hell before, and God help anyone who tried to stop him from doing it again right here and now.

“Everything is going to be okay, Dean,” the angel reassured in a soft, soothing tone. “Try not to fight it.”

A once completely foreign but now familiar pang in his heart brought an unexpected realization to the angel’s mind as he stood by his charge. 

There had been a time when Dean Winchester had been no more than a means to an end; an assignment from the higher-ups who deemed him an important asset to their cause. 

But a lot had changed since then.

Now, Cas cherished the man before him and shared in his beliefs, trusting Dean whole-heartedly to always do the right thing, regardless of what it might cost him in return. 

Throughout the years, Dean had taught Cas to stand up for himself. To think for himself. He taught him the meaning of free will and the importance of family. 

Dean had _become_ his family. 

The older Winchester possessed an endless supply of loyalty, bravery, and selflessness that the angel both respected and envied. 

And no matter how many times Cas had screwed up in the past, Dean always found it in his heart to forgive and forget, even when Cas himself refused to do the same. 

Dean was Cas’s reason to keep fighting, as well as his moral compass. But holding the man’s bloodied and shivering form in his arms, Cas realized for the first time how vulnerable and fragile the older hunter really was. 

Over the years, he had seen Dean bleed. He had seen him cry. He had listened to his desperate prayers and pleading, and he had seen Dean fall more than once. 

But the man always got back up. 

Cas had never seen him truly beaten or broken before, but right in that moment, he had to at least acknowledge the possibility that his friend might not make it back from this.

While the mark may be immortal, Dean Winchester certainly was not, and the thought of losing him now after all they had been through left an ache in Cas’s chest that angels were never meant to feel.

After a few more painful heaves, the nausea finally let up and Dean slumped against the cot, resting his sweaty forehead on the edge of the mattress and panting heavily.

“Dean?” Sam checked, resting a warm hand on Dean’s side, feeling the quivering beneath his fingers as Dean struggled to breathe through the resonating pain in his body. 

The older man couldn’t help but flinch away from the contact. His skin was over-sensitive, throbbing to the beat of his heart.

Dean tossed a quick look at his brother over his shoulder and saw the hurt cross his face as he pulled back. Dean sighed. “Sorry, Sammy. If it helps, it’s not you. It’s me.”

Sam huffed out a broken laugh. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” 

Dean managed a small smirk before settling back down, allowing his eyes to fall closed as exhaustion overwhelmed his system and the sharp pains finally began to level out.

As soon as Dean stilled, the younger Winchester hesitantly reached forward again and grasped the hem of his brother’s shirt. 

He tugged at it very lightly, trying to separate the blood and sweat-drenched cloth from Dean’s flayed skin, doing his best not to cause the man any unnecessary pain. 

Dean felt the cool air caress his lower back as his shirt was raised and he immediately tensed again, whipping his head around to frown up at his brother.

“What’re you doin’?” he croaked, voice strained by the odd angle. There was a nervous tremor in Dean’s tone that instantly brought out the protectiveness in his younger brother.

“It’s alright, Dean. Just stay still for a sec, okay? I’m just gonna check something out.”

Sam lifted Dean’s shirt up to the middle of his back and what he found beneath the cloth made his blood turn to ice and forced the air to stutter out of his lungs.

It wasn’t just simple straight cuts or lashes he saw on Dean’s marred skin, but actual letters crudely carved into his flesh, spelling out words like “weak”, “pathetic”, and “broken.”

There were hundreds of them, wrapping around Dean’s sides and disappearing beneath his waistband. Not an inch of skin was spared. 

“Sammy?” Dean prompted in a shaky voice. When he received no response, he attempted to roll back over to face his brother but Sam’s free hand shot out and braced against Dean’s hip.

Frustrated, Dean tried to knock his brother’s hand away, but Cas latched onto his free arm and pulled it towards himself, keeping Dean propped up on his side and effectively subduing him.

Dean struggled harder, but the angel wouldn’t give him an inch.

“Damn it… Get off me, Cas!” Dean glared up at his friend, but Cas held firm.

“You need to stay still, Dean. Movement will only aggravate your injuries.”

Dean frowned in confusion. _Injuries? Oh, crap._

The older man paled instantly, his mouth going dry and his eyes widening in fear as he realized what had captured his brother’s attention.

Sam’s thumb grazed over one of the phrases on Dean’s back and Dean hissed in surprise, arching away from him. Sam dropped Dean’s shirt and jerked back as if he had been burned.

As far as Sam could tell, all the cuts had been made by the same hand. Even worse, the younger Winchester was certain that he recognized the penmanship.

“Who did this to you, Dean?” he questioned in a soft tone, already anticipating the answer.

Dean shook his head, his stoicism draining from him by the second. “It’s not what you think, man.”

“It’s exactly what I think. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean could hear the tears in his brother’s voice and it made his chest ache. “Cause you didn’t need to know. That’s why.”

Sam scoffed incredulously. “I didn’t need to know? God, Dean…”

Cas glanced between the two of them, one eyebrow raised in confusion. “Is something the matter?”

Sam wiped furiously at the tears that escaped down his cheeks. “Get him patched up for me, alright, Cas? I just… I need some air.”

Sam made his way to the door on shaky legs, fists clenched tightly by his sides, then disappeared into the other half of the bunker’s basement.

Dean yanked desperately against the cuff around his right wrist, determined to get to his brother. “Sam? Sam! Damn it… Cas, go after him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“But, Dean, your wounds need tending.”

“They’re the least of my problems right now, okay? I’ll be fine. Just go!”

Cas’ brow furrowed as he contemplated his options. If he left Dean’s other hand free, he could easily undo his restraints and take off. 

But tying him down again would require forcing him to lie on his injured back, making it uncomfortable for the older Winchester but also impossible to care for the bleeding cuts.

Dean’s injuries, while undoubtedly painful, were far from life threatening, and Cas was in need of some answers.

His mind was made up. “Sorry about this, Dean.”

Dean looked up at the angel in question, just as two of Cas’ fingers descended onto his forehead. Dean slumped back down to the cot, forced into unconsciousness for the second time that day.

Cas paused for a moment, gauging the heat emanating from Dean’s feverish head before deciding he wasn’t in any immediate danger. Then he turned and followed the younger Winchester’s path through the door.

Sam hadn’t gone far. He was sitting a few steps up on the basement stairs, one fist pressed against his lips as he stared forlornly at the opposite wall.

“Sam?” Cas asked, announcing his presence.

Sam jumped, then looked over at him, worry and fear quickly replacing the lost look in his eyes as he rose to his feet and headed towards the angel. 

“What’s wrong? Is he...?”

“Dean is fine. He’s… resting.”

Sam brushed past Cas and stopped in the doorway, needing to see for himself. He could clearly see Dean’s shoulder rising and falling with each steady breath and he let out his own, unaware he had even been holding it.

“Did you put him out?”

Cas looked away, feeling ashamed. “Yes. I didn’t see any other choice.”

“It’s okay, Cas. Sleep might do him some good.”

Cas walked back to stand next to Sam, eyeing him calculatingly. “And what about you, Sam? Dean seemed very agitated when you walked out.”

Sam leaned back against the doorframe and massaged his burning eyes with a heavy sigh of regret. “I shouldn’t have left him like that.”

“Then why did you?”

The younger man scoffed angrily. “As if you don’t already know.”

At the angel’s perplexed look, Sam forced himself to continue.

“You saw what he was going through in Hell when you connected with him, didn’t you?”

Cas lowered his head. “I saw what was being done to him, yes. Alistair was…”

“We both know it wasn’t Alistair,” Sam cut in, voice hard and emotionless. “The way Dean was acting when he got back, the things he said and did… It all makes sense now. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before.”

Cas cocked his head at that. “I don’t understand. I saw the demon’s face very clearly, Sam. I assure you it was all Alistair’s doing.”

“Well that’s not who Dean saw, I can tell you that much.”

Sam pushed off the doorframe and made his way back into the room to check on his brother. Cas followed him in.

“What are you saying, Sam?”

Sam returned to his spot behind his brother, carefully raising his shirt once again and grimacing at the damage. 

“I’m saying they got into his head, Cas. They realized they couldn’t break him with physical pain, so they found another way.”

“You mean psychological torture.”

Sam closed his eyes, allowing fresh tears to escape down his cheeks. Cas made his way to Sam’s side and got his first glimpse at Dean’s wounds, his throat tightening as he began to read.

A horrible thought crossed Cas’ mind and he suddenly felt ill, a human emotion he never quite rid himself of once he got his grace back.

“Are you… Are you telling me they used your father’s visage to torture Dean?”

Sam shook his head numbly, his voice emotionless as he continued in an almost robotic manner. 

“No. My dad was too strong to be manipulated into doing something like that, regardless of how long they tortured him in the pit. Dean would’ve known it wasn’t really him.”

“Then…?”

Sam lifted Dean’s shirt higher, pointing to one section of words in particular- just below his left shoulder blade- that had caught his attention earlier and sent him off the rails. 

Cas leaned in closer to get a better look. The cuts read _“Daddy’s good little soldier_.” His heart sank into his stomach half a second before Sam confirmed his fears.

“It was _me_ , Cas. They used _me_ to torture my brother. And after the way I was acting before he died, I can’t blame Dean for falling for it.”

Cas clenched his jaw, then looked up at the younger brother, unable to continue reading the slanderous carvings any longer. 

“Sam, Dean knows you would never intentionally hurt him.”

“Does he? I’ve hurt Dean more ways than I can count, Cas. The things I did with Ruby, the lying and sneaking around behind his back… I gave him every reason to believe I’d make some sort of stupid deal to try to save him and end up going dark side because of it.”

Sam shook his head, more tears running down his face.

“How can he stand to be around me anymore, Cas? I must remind him of what he went through every damned day, and yet he never walked out on me.”

Cas reached up and tentatively put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He loves you, Sam. Love will always triumph over evil.”

Sam gently squeezed his brother’s upper arm, needing to feel connected to him. “I have to save him, Cas. I owe him that much.”

“We will find a way to help your brother, Sam. Have faith.”

TBC


	8. Beg Your Pardon

Sam let out a slow, steadying breath, taking a moment to compose himself before pulling up a chair and grabbing the med kit he had brought in earlier. 

Now was not the time to fall apart. His brother needed him.

“Cas, help me take off his restraints.”

The angel’s brow furrowed and he maintained his distance. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sam. Your brother will not be pleased if you go against his wishes.”

“He’ll get over it. Come on. I need to see what I’m dealing with here.” 

Cas weighed his options, then reluctantly moved to the foot of the cot and began unstrapping Dean’s ankles, keeping a wary eye on the unconscious hunter. “He will not be out for long. Make it quick.”

Sam gently freed his brother’s right wrist, and together they eased Dean onto his stomach, resting his arms above his head so they’d be out of the way. 

The younger Winchester grabbed a pair of scissors and carefully sliced through the back of his brother’s saturated shirt, slowly peeling the rest of the fabric away from Dean’s pale and torn skin. 

Oddly enough, the cuts didn’t seem as deep as they had before, and most of them had already stopped bleeding. 

Injuries he could handle. He’s been patching up his brother as far back as he can remember. Dean always _was_ the reckless one.

Sam set about triaging Dean’s medical issues, falling back on his father’s training and letting the muscle memory take the wheel for a while so his emotions wouldn’t inhibit his ability to function. 

The heat emanating off of Dean’s skin was alarming. Whether it was due to some sort of an infection from the cuts, the internalizing of the mark, or his body’s way of fighting against the cure, Sam knew he would need to cool his brother down soon before it got any worse.

He turned back to the angel who was hovering over his shoulder awkwardly.

“Do me a favor and see if you can get his fever down while I patch up his back.”

Without waiting for a response, Sam grabbed a bunch of cotton swabs from the kit, as well as the Peroxide, and set to work, cleaning each wound of any debris or bacteria. 

Dean remained still and unconscious as his injuries frothed from the liquid so Sam did the wincing for him, knowing all too well how much the deeper cuts tended to burn.

Cas moved around him, lining Dean’s sides with bags of ice and laying a cold compress on the back of his overheated neck. After a few minutes, he checked Dean’s forehead again and was pleased to find his temperature had dropped a degree or two.

Still not great, but progress was progress.

Advancing further up the cot, Cas carefully cleaned and bandaged Dean’s torn wrists, applying the same techniques he had observed Sam using. Glancing up at the younger man, Sam met his gaze and nodded in gratitude and approval. Cas smiled back.

Unsure of how else he could help, the angel thought it best to simply get out of Sam’s way. He retreated to the entrance of the room, leaning back against the sliding shelves and crossing his arms, guarding the door and watching silently as Sam tended to his brother.

Sam methodically worked his way from the tops of Dean’s marked shoulders down to the waistband of his jeans, trying his best not to keep reading the hateful words that covered the entire expanse of his brother’s back. 

More importantly, he tried not to think about how a demon wearing his own face was responsible for it.

Instead, he focused on how thin Dean had gotten under his watch. Without the multi-layers of clothing in the way, Sam could clearly see that the man hadn’t been taking care of himself for a long time.

He wasn’t skeletal thin yet, but he also wasn’t far off. Dean had always been a lean guy, but his love for the fattier foods and constant training typically kept him at a decent fighting weight. 

Now, it looked like a stiff wind would knock him to the ground.

Sam vowed to force-feed cheeseburgers and pie into his brother as soon as Dean was well enough to keep them down.

He was almost finished cleaning the last of Dean’s wounds, hidden just beneath his belt line, when he felt the muscles in his brother’s lower back cord suddenly under his fingers. 

Dean was waking up.

The older Winchester moved so fast, Sam didn’t have time to react. 

Dean twisted to the side and had Sam’s wrist locked in a bone-crushing grip, then slid off the table, bending his brother’s arm up behind his back while bringing the discarded pair of scissors he had somehow gotten a hold of up to Sam’s throat.

“Got you now, you demonic son-of-a-bitch!”

One thing was for sure; Dean’s reaction time hadn’t been slowed in the least.

“Easy, Dean!” Sam blurted, afraid his brother would hurt himself even more if he weren’t careful. “Just take it easy, man…”

Dean dug the sharp blades of the scissors into the side of Sam’s neck, just enough to draw a bead of blood and a small hiss of pain.

Cas started towards them to help, but Sam held up his free hand, halting his approach. “Don’t! Just stay back, Cas.”

Judging by the feral look he had glimpsed in his brother’s eyes mid-motion, Dean was disoriented and relying on his fight or flight instincts to keep him alive. 

The last thing Sam wanted to do was corner him.

Cas kept his distance as requested, but he locked gazes with Dean, holding his hands up to appear non-threatening. “Dean, release your brother. You don’t want to hurt him.”

The fear and anger slowly faded away from Dean’s face and he blinked, really taking in his current situation for the first time since he came back to consciousness. He scanned the room for clues, then realized he was still in the bunker. 

The demon in his arms wasn’t fighting in the least, and if Cas was here, that meant that…

“Sammy?” he asked warily, too jaded by the world of hunting to trust his own senses. 

“It’s me, Dean, I swear. I’ll prove it to you if you want.”

Glancing in at Sam’s neck, Dean focused on the drop of blood sliding down the silver edge of the scissors. 

_Red_ blood. _Human_ blood.

He dropped the scissors to the floor with a clatter, releasing his brother and stumbling away from him in horror. 

“Damn it, Sam! I specifically told you _not_ to take off the restraints! I could’ve _killed_ you!”

Sam ignored Cas’ “I told you so” expression and nonchalantly raised a hand to his neck, his middle finger coming away bloody. “Relax, Dean. It’s barely a scratch. I’ve done worse shaving.”

“That is so not the point and you know it.”

Dean moved to the dungeon wall and grabbed a set of devil’s trap handcuffs, then looked around for the safest place to which he could bind himself.

“I’m not takin’ anymore chances.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, hang on…”

Dean shot him a glare before stepping back towards the metal cot, but then he stopped short with a pained gasp, both hands coming up to cradle his throbbing head. “Gah!”

Sam was by his side in an instant. “Dean?! What’s wrong?” He could feel his brother shaking but had no idea if it was due to fatigue, pain, adrenaline, the fever, or something else entirely.

Dean brushed him off, frustrated by his continued weakness. 

“Nothin’. Just a bad headache all of a sudden. I’m fine.”

He straightened back up and managed a few more determined strides towards the cot when Cas suddenly appeared in front of him, frowning in concern. 

To Dean’s credit, he barely flinched; a testament to how often the angel tended to pop-in unannounced.

“Look at me, Dean.”

“Later, Cas.”

Dean tried to push past him but Cas prevented his escape with a hand to his chest, then reached up and took hold of Dean’s chin. 

Turning his head from side to side, Cas could easily see multiple broken blood vessels dotting the whites of his eyes with spots of bright red. 

He winced in sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I believe I may be responsible for the headache.”

Dean rolled his eyes, pulling Cas’s hand away from his face. “Ya think?” 

He stepped around Cas- successfully, this time- and began wrapping the length of chain around one of the cot’s firmly fixed metal legs.

Sam glanced between the two of them in confusion. “Wait, what are you talkin’ about, Cas?”

“Forcing a mind into unconsciousness is not without its risks, Sam. It’s not natural for the human body to switch on and off like that, and it appears that multiple attempts to do so within a short period of time has resulted in damage.”

Sam’s eyes widened as he looked back over at his brother. “What kind of damage are we talking about here?”

“Minimal, _this_ time. But I cannot risk doing it again in the near future. I’m afraid he’s on his own for the remainder of the cure.”

“That’s what alcohol and pain meds are for, Cas,” Dean shot back over his shoulder with a forced grin that resembled more of a grimace. 

He fastened one end of the cuffs around his right wrist and tugged against it to check the give. It would hold. For now.

“Your whammies are screwin’ with my head too much anyway. I'm having enough trouble deciphering between these stupid flashes and reality as it is.”

Dean was maneuvering the cuffs around to get the left one into position when a wave of dizziness hit him and he faltered, leaning heavily against the cot and squeezing his eyes shut till the room stopped spinning. 

“Damn it…”

“Dean, take a seat,” Sam instructed, going to his brother’s aid once more and guiding him onto the edge of the cot. “You need to slow down, man. You’re the toughest guy I know, but even you have your limits.”

This time, Dean _did_ flinch, his thoughts still locked on his time in Hell, and how Alistair eventually succeeded in breaking him. “Yeah, thanks for _that_ reminder, Sammy.”

Sam felt like he’d been slapped. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” Dean’s voice was soft, almost apologetic. He was exhausted and in pain, and the last thing he wanted was to get into another pointless argument. 

Sam swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, then gently took his brother’s left wrist and snapped the cuff on it for him, watching sadly as the tension bled from Dean’s shoulders the second he was no longer a potential threat.

Dean tried to look up at his brother but he couldn’t get his eyes to go any higher than the bloody nick on Sam’s throat.

Sam knew the older man was guilt-tripping on top of everything else and he shook his head. “Dean, I’m fine. Seriously. Doesn’t even require a Band-Aid.”

“I know I trained you to break outta that hold, Sammy. So why didn’t you?”

Sam shrugged. “Cause I knew you’d never actually hurt me.”

Dean huffed out a humorless laugh, then wiped a shaking hand over his face. “Yeah, I never thought I would either.”

He blinked up towards the ceiling with a sniff, fighting to keep himself under control.

Sam frowned and sat down on the cot next to him, lightly bumping his knee against Dean’s. “Hey. Talk to me, man. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Dean let out a slow breath, fortifying himself against the impending fallout. “I failed you, Sammy. Hell, I failed everyone.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Dean bit his lip, debating on how much he should say.

“You know I’m not one for givin’ excuses, dude, but Alistair has a way with gettin’ inside your head no matter how hard you try to fight it.”

“Yeah. I sort of got that impression.”

“For the record, I didn’t want to believe it was you down there with me, Sammy. Not for a second. But he knew everything about us, and I mean _everything_. He played me like a fiddle, and in the end, I gave him exactly what he wanted.”

“You didn’t have any choice, Dean. He was _torturing_ you.”

Dean dropped his gaze, his jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth. “That’s just it, Sammy… I _begged_ him to torture me.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review if you're enjoying this story so far! Lots of feels coming in the next chapter as Dean finally admits what happened to him in Hell, so consider yourselves forewarned, and more to come soon!


	9. The Pit of Despair

_“I_ begged _you to torture me.”_ The words continued to echo through Sam's head, but he was struggling to make sense of them.

“What?” he eventually croaked out, his mouth having gone completely dry at his brother’s unexpected confession. 

Dean never begged for _anything_ in his life. Sure, he had a habit of goading himself into deeper trouble at the worst of times such as barroom brawls, but to plead for a demon to torture him with more pain? It just didn’t make any sense to Sam.

Dean’s restraints gave him just enough leeway to reach up and scratch the back of his head in discomfort. 

“Hey, Cas? Do you think you could give us another minute here? I need to talk to my brother, alone.”

Cas, who had looked just as flustered as Sam by Dean’s previous statement, regained his composure and nodded. 

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll uh… I’ll reach out to some trusted members from my old garrison to see if they have more information to share about the mark and its effects.” His eyes drifted over to Sam pointedly. “You know how to contact me if any… _problems_ should arise.”

With that, the angel excused himself from the room, leaving a tense silence behind in his wake. 

“Well that was subtle,” Dean joked half-heartedly, trying to loosen the tension a bit, but Sam wasn’t exactly in a laughing mood.

“What really happened in the pit, Dean?” he forced out before he lost his nerve. “What did I… What did _he_ do to you?”

Dean had ducked this question multiple times already, but there was no getting out of this one. It was time to come clean. 

He fiddled with his hands in his lap so he wouldn’t have to look his brother in the eye. “How much did Cas tell you?”

“Just that Alistair was the ringleader behind the torture. He didn’t go into specifics.”

Dean nodded solemnly, preparing himself to reveal information he had hoped to take with him to his grave. Fate never seemed to work out in his favor though.

“The first thing you need to know is that Alistair was one creative son-of-a-bitch. He had a reputation in the pit, and he sure as hell earned it. I guess you could say he was the warden in my cellblock, and he liked to take his time rippin’ souls to pieces. 

“He’d work his way down the hall, one cell at a time, and you could judge how close he was by the screams. I swear, that was the worst part of Hell. The screamin’ never stopped, Sam. Just changed direction and distance. But at least when he was torturin’ me it was an effective distraction from the waiting.”

“Is that why you…?” Sam started then trailed off, unable to say the painful word aloud. 

“Begged?” Dean supplied hollowly, then shook his head. “No. In fact, I refused to make any sound whatsoever in the beginning. I knew the screamin’ was what Alistair got off on, so I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. Hell, I even bit off my own tongue a few times just to spite that bastard. 

“And the whole time he was tearin’ me to shreds, the only thing that kept me sane was envisioning you out there somewhere livin’ that normal, apple pie life you always wanted.”

Sam looked away at that, knowing all too well that he hadn’t fulfilled his brother’s dying wish. 

Instead, Sam had crossed more lines than he cared to admit trying to break Dean out of Hell, and when all else failed, he tracked Ruby down to begin his training in preparation for killing Lilith.

Dean must’ve been so disappointed when he finally reunited with Sam, only to find his little brother had literally been sleeping with the enemy in his absence.

Dean cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly before continuing.

“Eventually, Alistair realized he wasn’t winning the game, so he changed the rules. That’s when he got into my head, and when _you_ walked into my cell. I’ll admit, he had me goin’ for a while there, thinkin’ you somehow found a way to bust me outta the pit, and like an idiot, I let my guard down.”

“It _should’ve_ been me, Dean. I tried everything to get you out.”

“I know, and I’m not tryin’ to guilt-trip you here, Sammy. I don’t blame you for any of it, alright? I’m just sayin’ he pulled a pretty obvious con on me and I was dumb enough to buy it.”

“You were desperate, man. I’d have done the same thing in your shoes.”

“Yeah, well… You make mistakes, you pay for ‘em, right? When ‘demon you’ turned on me, it was the closest I’d ever gotten to breakin’ and Alistair knew it. He tapped into my memories and threw everything he had at me. 

“I kept tryin’ to convince myself that it wasn’t really you; that even if you went dark side after I became puppy chow, there was still no way you’d take it _that_ far. Not to your own brother. But eventually, the doubt started to seep in and it was all downhill from there.”

Sam was relatively sure a piece of his heart was now lodged in his esophagus. He swallowed hard before giving voice to his worst fear. 

“After all the crap I pulled before you died, I gave you every reason to doubt me.”

Dean sighed. “It’s more complicated than that, man.”

He licked at his dry lips before continuing.

“You gotta understand something, Sammy. Hell was easily the most scared I’ve ever been in my entire life, and once I saw you there, I just… I couldn’t face it alone anymore.”

Dean absently played with the chains around his wrists, looking for anything to keep him grounded in the here and now while his memories of Hell kept tugging at him from the shadows.

“I _needed_ him to be you, because even though we’ve had our ups and downs through the years, there was nothin’ we couldn’t beat when we had each other’s backs. I figured maybe with time, I could find a way to save you, ya know? Bring back the Sam I knew so we could kick Alistair’s ass and bust outta the pit together in true Winchester fashion.”

Dean glanced over and forced a small smirk to cross his lips for his brother’s benefit, but gave up the attempt when Sam didn’t meet his gaze, too lost in his own guilt to acknowledge Dean’s efforts at lightening the atmosphere a bit. 

Dean looked back down at his hands, running his left thumb over the shallow, crescent-shaped cuts along his right palm from where his nails had dug into his flesh. 

He had done the same thing in Hell to try and offset the agony in the rest of his body. 

So much pain. The slicing. The tearing. The gouging. The malicious laughter, and the echoing screams…

Realizing belatedly that his brother had stopped talking, Sam glanced up and recognized the hundred-yard stare in Dean’s eyes. 

“Hey.” He gently nudged Dean with his elbow, shaking him from his stupor and bringing him back to the present. “You good?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Dean grunted out, his voice deeper than it was only a moment ago. “Just zoned for a sec.”

“I still don’t get it, Dean. Why’d you do it? Why’d you beg for more pain when Alistair was clearly doing just fine on his own?”

A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together.

“Cause that’s when he figured out my real weakness. After years of me not screamin’ like your demon-double wanted, you finally got bored. And then you turned your back and walked away. It was weeks before I saw you again. Before I saw _anybody_ again.

“That was worse than any physical pain you coulda dished out. So when you showed up at my cell again and started layin’ into me, I begged for more, because I knew if I did you’d keep comin’ back, and as screwed up as it sounds, I just couldn’t let you go, Sammy.”

Dean’s voice quavered on the last word and he had to close his eyes to help rein in his emotions.

“Even a sadistic copy of you was better than bein’ alone down there. After a while, you didn’t even bother chainin’ me up anymore. I’d just kneel on the ground like a good little soldier and let you go to town.”

“God, Dean…” Sam blinked back tears as his heart shattered at his brother’s admission. 

He knew Dean had always been afraid of abandonment. That’s why his brother came to get him at school back when their father went missing. 

After spending his whole life caring for others, Sam in particular, Dean was lost and without purpose when he suddenly found himself all alone.

But to choose physical torture over solitude?

Sam was instantly reminded of all the times he had walked away from Dean in the past and what that must have done to his brother. 

Dean had no self-esteem left, no sense of self-worth.

It wasn’t Alistair that broke his brother after all. The real damage had already been done, long ago.

Sam wiped at his face, his hand coming away wet. 

Dean pretended not to notice, continuing his story in an empty, emotionless tone. He had to disconnect himself or there was no way he’d be able to get through it all.

“Then at the end of every day, Alistair would come in to make his offer like I told you before; to take me off the rack if I put other souls on. And all I could think of was that I didn’t want to turn into the monster that _you_ had become. So every day, I shot him down.”

_Every day, for thirty years…_

Sam swallowed hard and unstuck his throat to ask the one question that had been plaguing him ever since their roadside chat about Hell. “What happened thirty years in, Dean? What changed?”

Dean turned away, hiding the tears that had started to stream down his own reddened face.

“I did the one thing I swore I’d never do. That day started like all the others, but halfway through tearin’ into me, you brought up Dad. You told me I made him a promise but was too weak to keep it. That I was supposed to put you down if you went dark side, and that I was a failure for lettin’ you live. For lettin’ you turn into this… _thing_.

“And I had chances to end it all, believe me. Alistair wasn’t as careful as he thought, leavin’ the blades just close enough to reach and the chains just loose enough to break free if I tried. But even after thirty years of Hell, I wasn’t ready to give up on you yet. I was still determined to save you, Sammy, no matter what it cost.”

Dean looked up at Sam, his eyes begging his little brother to understand. To forgive him for what came next.

“But that’s when you told me that Dad was down there with us, just one cell over where he could hear everything, and how disappointed he was that his soldier would beg a demon for pain cause it was easier than finishin’ the damned job. Then you said if I didn’t stop you right then and there, you were gonna start rippin’ him apart next, and God help me, Sammy, I just lost it.

“I grabbed a blade from the instrument tray and I tore you apart until I couldn’t raise my arms anymore. It was my job to keep you _safe_ , Sam, and I failed in the worst possible way. 

“And when I finally finished, there was this… this _darkness_ inside of me that was hungry for more. So when Alistair came back in to make his deal, I said yes, and what you had done to me all those years was nothin’ compared to what I did to those innocent souls.”

Dean’s voice broke at the end and Sam knew he was done talking. He could practically hear his brother’s mental walls trying to rebuild themselves before they were destroyed completely.

“I am so sorry, Dean,” Sam whispered, tears streaming down his face unchecked. He could clearly recall Dean’s reaction to him drinking the demon blood; how scared he had been that his little brother was turning himself into a monster.

After his time in Hell, Dean had started taking reckless chances; using himself as bait, sacrificing his blood for rituals so Sam wouldn’t have to, egging the baddies on when they caught him and drinking away the pain from his wounds afterwards…

And now Sam understood why.

It wasn’t just about the family business anymore. Dean was also fighting for his own redemption.

Sam stood up from the cot and stepped in front of his brother, gently taking his bound wrists into his hands.

Dean looked down in confusion as if just waking from a horrible nightmare, then he chanced a glance up at Sam. He was expecting to see betrayal or hurt in his brother’s eyes, even anger or disgust.

But all he saw was a deep-seated love and respect that he didn’t feel he deserved.

“Dean, listen to me,” Sam stated, making sure he had his brother’s undivided attention. “You have _never_ failed me, okay? You are the strongest, most loyal person I’ve ever known. You did what you had to do in the pit and now you need to forgive yourself. _I’m_ the one who failed, and I hope someday, maybe you’ll be able to forgive me too.”

With his mobility still restricted by the cuffs, Dean reached out and latched onto the front of Sam’s shirt, pulling him forward. Sam went easily, wrapping his brother into a tight embrace, using the physical contact to convey everything that words alone never could.

Dean buried his face in his little brother’s neck as he felt some of the weight lift off of his shoulders. Suddenly, the air wasn’t so thick anymore and he could finally breathe again.

“Nothin’ to forgive, Sammy,” he stated next to his brother’s ear. “It wasn’t you.”

But it _was_ to an extent, and they both knew it.

Sam gripped Dean tighter, silent tears streaming down his cheeks for the broken man in his arms and the role he had unwittingly played in his destruction. 

Never again would he give Dean a reason to doubt his loyalty.

Dean suddenly let out a small gasp. Sam was terrified he had hurt him so he immediately pulled away, studying his brother’s face for an explanation. “Dean? You alright?”

Dean blinked up at him, wide-eyed and confused. “M-my back… It doesn’t hurt anymore, Sam.”

“What?”

“The pain. It’s gone.”

Sam stepped around the cot and his jaw dropped when he realized his brother’s skin was mark-free. No more cuts. Not even faint scars. He had completely healed.

Sam let out a small, elated laugh. “You did it, Dean. You beat your inner-demon.”

“I’m afraid this is just a reprieve,” Cas stated sadly from the doorway, making both boys twist around in surprise. “From what I’ve gathered, it’s only going to get worse from here.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter everyone! Hope you're enjoying the story so far, and stay safe out there!


	10. Angels and Demons

“What’d you find out, Cas?” Sam asked, attempting to prepare himself for more bad news.

The angel’s gaze flickered uncertainly towards Dean, worried that his information might upset the man further. “Perhaps we should speak outside, Sam.”

Dean fixed him with an annoyed glare, refusing to be treated like some delicate damsel in distress. “Just spit it out, Cas.”

The angel nodded reluctantly, then continued. 

“The cure Rowena gave you, Dean... It acts as a purification process for your soul. Basically, it’s like antibodies attacking a virus, only in this case, the virus will mutate and become more ferocious with every inner battle you win, attempting to tear you apart from the inside out.”

“Awesome,” Dean groused sarcastically. “So what am I supposed to do then, stop fighting it?”

Cas shook his head and sighed. 

“Unfortunately, that is not an option. Without any resistance, the curse will devour the cure and your soul along with it. Your only choice is to keep fighting until the purification process is complete.”

“Or until the cure kills me and the mark takes over,” Dean added wearily, bringing a restrained hand up to massage his reddened eyes, attempting to push back the ever-intensifying headache. 

Sam gently squeezed his brother’s shoulder in comfort. “We’re gonna get through this, Dean. Whatever it takes.”

“Yeah,” the older man grunted back absently, running his fingers through his spiky hair before sitting up straighter to put on a convincing show of fortitude. “Hey, Sammy? We got anything to eat around here?”

Dean could see Cas frowning intently at him from across the room and quickly averted his eyes. Somehow, the angel knew he was suppressing something and clearly did not approve.

Sam’s expression, on the other hand, brightened instantly at his brother’s request. “Whatever you want, man.”

Food was the absolute _last_ thing Dean wanted at that moment, but he had to say _something_ to get that shattered look off his brother’s face. 

And if sending him on a fool’s errand was what it took to score some alone time to regroup, then so be it.

Dean forced a smirk to cross his lips, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “How about the ‘Dean Winchester’ special?”

“Done. You want extra onions?”

Dean’s stomach convulsed at the thought, forcing him to white-knuckle the edge of the cot he was sitting on until the nausea settled back down. “Better hold off on those unless you wanna deal with my death-breath afterwards.”

Sam grimaced in disgust. “Fair enough. Need anything else while I’m out?” 

Of course, Sam already knew the answer to that one. Dean could be completely destitute and eating out of garbage cans and still never ask for a damned thing. 

Money was always tight when they were growing up, so Dean had quickly learned to live off the bare essentials. If that meant nothing but PB&J or Ramen for two weeks straight, then so be it.

But heaven forbid Sam was ever denied the most expensive cereals with the cool prizes or the badass Batman Band-Aids. Dean always did right by his little brother, no matter the cost, and now it was Sam’s chance to return the favor.

Dean’s reply was as predictable as ever. “Nah, ‘m good. But get whatever you want. We’re probably gonna be stuck here for a while, so grab yourself some crossword books or something.”

Sam snorted dismissively. As if he were going to be playing word games while his brother relived the worst memories of his life, chained to a metal cot inside a supernatural dungeon. 

Dean could be pretty thick sometimes.

When the older Winchester started reaching for his wallet, Sam stopped him with a hand on his elbow.

“I’ve got it, man.” 

Some things never changed.

Dean hesitated but couldn’t muster the energy to insist, so he shrugged nonchalantly and pushed the worn leather back into his frayed jeans pocket.

While his brother was resituating himself, Sam took full advantage of the opportunity to surreptitiously rake his eyes over Dean’s body, taking in the painfully rigid set of his shoulders, the pinched expression on his gaunt face, and the shadowed bruising around his eyes from lack of sleep and improper nourishment. 

Sam’s mental shopping list was growing by the second, but it sure as hell didn’t include any crossword puzzles.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? Try to get some rest. You’ll need it to keep up your strength.”

Dean had an inkling that strength wasn’t going to be a problem. He could feel the mark’s power coursing through his veins more than ever now, vying to take over his body and soul. It made his skin crawl. 

He instinctively rubbed at his forearm, a habit that was proving difficult to break even though the mark was no longer branded there.

Sam noticed the subconscious gesture and frowned in concern. “Dean?”

The older man realized what he was doing and quickly shifted his fingers down towards his wrist, massaging around the restraints instead. 

“Think I put the cuffs on a little too tight,” he added for effect. “Feels like the bones are rubbin’ together.”

“Here, let me loosen…” Sam reached out for his brother’s wrist, but Dean pulled away.

“Just leave it, Sammy. Tighter is better. I’m not takin’ any chances.”

_Those damned words again…_

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, giving off his best John Winchester vibe. 

“If you start losing feeling in your fingers, Dean, you better tell me. We can find another way to keep you secured that won’t result in amputations.”

Dean raised both hands and mockingly wiggled his fingers. “My circulation’s fine, dude. See? No numbness or discoloration. My stomach, on the other hand, is still empty.”

Sam was preparing to lecture his brother on how difficult it would be to eat a burger without any hands when Cas moved further into the room.

“Go ahead, Sam. I will watch over Dean until your return.”

Cas’s tone sounded more like a threat than an offer and Dean’s back automatically stiffened in response.

Sam could feel the tension rising in the air, and judging by the way his brother was purposefully keeping his head down, Dean was clearly expecting the angel to tear him a new one as soon as Sam walked away.

The two of them still had unfinished business to discuss now that Dean wasn’t in any immediate danger.

Sighing, Sam gave up the fight and headed towards the door, pausing as he reached Cas’ side and lowering his voice so Dean wouldn’t hear him. 

“Take it easy on him, alright, Cas? I know he messed up, but he thought he was doing the right thing. That’s gotta count for somethin’.”

After a brief moment of inner debate, Cas gave a minute nod and Sam clapped him on the back in gratitude, then he left the two of them alone to clear the air.

Minutes passed and no one said a word.

Dean shivered slightly in his brother’s absence, finally noticing the coolness of the room now that Sam’s body heat wasn’t hovering over him anymore. 

Feeling exposed, he pulled his arms in tighter to his body, wishing Sam had at least thought to give him a shirt before he left.

Eventually, Dean couldn’t stand the quiet any longer and he let out an exaggerated sigh. 

“Well? What are you waitin’ for? I know you’re still pissed at me for goin’ to Crowley, so let’s have it, Cas. Smoldering in silence isn’t gonna make you feel any better, so let's have it.”

When the angel didn’t respond, Dean looked up only to find Cas wasn’t there anymore. Dean frowned, scanning the room carefully as his nerves started getting the better of him. 

“Cas?”

He was caught off guard when the angel suddenly reappeared in front of him and wrapped a light blanket around his bare shoulders, practically swaddling him in it like an infant.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. “Uh… Cas? What are you doin’?”

“I told Sam I would take care of you in his absence, and your body temperature is starting to rise again. I read online that a light blanket could ward off chills and induce sweating once the fever has spiked.”

“Right…” Dean muttered, making a mental note to keep Cas away from WebMD wherever possible.

“Speaking of Sam, you shouldn’t lie to your brother, Dean. He is only trying to help.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “The kid needed a break, Cas. He’s wound tighter than a two dollar watch. Some fresh air will be good for him.”

“And you?” Cas’ calculating gaze was so piercing that Dean had to wrap the blanket more securely around his chest, afraid the angel could see all the way into his battered soul. 

“I’m fine,” he responded automatically, then swallowed hard when Cas’ lips pursed with anger at the blatant lie.

“You should get some sleep, Dean,” Cas replied coolly. “I will wake you when the food arrives.”

The angel turned towards the door, planning on keeping vigil there so Dean could rest in peace.

“Cas, wait,” Dean forced out before he could stop himself, a faint blush coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears when the angel turned back expectantly.

“I umm… I don’t think I ever thanked you for gettin’ me outta the pit. I know you were just followin’ orders from on high back then, but still… I’m sure it couldn’t have been an easy feat pullin’ my bacon from the fire.”

Cas stared at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, before looking away. 

“It was a hard won battle, but you didn’t belong there, Dean. Gratitude is unnecessary when it comes to righting a wrong.”

“All the same… Thank you.”

The angel inclined his head slightly. “You’re welcome.”

Dean let out a slow breath, knowing he was about to start World War III, but he had no other choice. “Look, I hate to ask, but I need you to do something else for me, Cas.”

Cas’ bright blue eyes connected with Dean’s determined green ones. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“…I need you to bring me Crowley.”

Cas’s expression immediately hardened again. “For what purpose?”

Dean stared back, refusing to back down. “You already know the answer to that.”

The angel’s eyes flared in anger. “This conversation is over,” he growled, then turned to walk away again.

Dean’s hand shot out from beneath the blanket and latched onto Cas’ wrist before he could take more than two steps.

“Damn it, Cas, just listen to me for a sec, alright?!”

Cas spun back around furiously and gripped the front of the blanket with both hands, shaking Dean hard enough to rattle his teeth. 

“No, Dean, _you_ listen! What is it going to take to get you to understand?! Your soul is no longer yours to give!”

 _That_ took Dean by surprise. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You gave yourself over wholly to serve God, Dean. Mind, body, and soul.”

Dean blinked up at him, utterly perplexed. “Was I drunk? Cause I don’t think that’s legally binding.”

Cas was not amused.

“When Sam was intending to kill Lillith and stop the apocalypse, you prayed for help and agreed to follow Heaven’s rule in order to spare your brother a terrible fate. You gave your _word_ , Dean… Or does that mean nothing to you?”

Dean’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “Oh, come on, Cas! That was like six years ago! A lot has changed since then.”

“Oaths to Heaven do not come with a shelf-life, Dean,” Cas responded indignantly, releasing him with a small shove. “Many of my brothers and sisters died in the siege to free you from Hell, and then you threw their sacrifices back in their faces by turning right around and purposefully trying to walk back in!”

“I get how it looks, man, but I didn’t have any other choice!”

“There is _always_ a choice!”

“Fine,” Dean responded in a clipped tone. “You wanna leave Crowley out of this, then _you_ have to do it.”

“Do _what_?” Cas huffed back, his anger now tinged with wary curiosity.

“Kill me,” Dean stated flatly, though there was a slightly apologetic tone to his voice.

The angel drew away from him, looking like he’d been slapped. “What?”

“I’d do it myself if I could, but you can’t let me hold the First Blade again no matter what, you hear me? I can’t trust myself around that thing, but you… Cas, _you_ I trust.”

“Dean, I…”

“I’m runnin’ outta options here, man,” Dean stated softly. “You were right. I’m not fine. I can already feel the mark gettin’ stronger, and I don’t know how many more rounds of this I can take. So as soon as the mark is vulnerable enough to destroy, you shove that blade into my heart and end this freakin’ nightmare.”

“No, Dean. We will find another way.”

Dean scoffed cynically. 

“There isn’t one, okay? It’s time to face reality, Cas. I know I’m not walkin’ away from this mess, and I’ve already made peace with that. As for who gets to lay claim to my soul after I’m gone, I don’t give a crap. Heaven or Hell, it makes no difference to me. 

“But what I can’t accept is makin’ my little brother responsible for pullin’ that metaphorical trigger. He won’t survive it, Cas. You can’t let that burden fall on him.”

Cas turned away, unable to witness the pain and desperation in Dean’s eyes any longer.

“Dean, I can’t. You don’t understand what you’re asking of me.”

A heavy door opened and closed in the distance, announcing Sam’s return.

“Cas, _please_ ,” Dean whispered, his voice faltering as a stray tear, born of pure desperation, escaped from the corner of his eye. “I’m beggin’ ya here. I gave you the Blade for a reason. You’ve gotta do this one last thing for me, or bring me someone else who will.”

Cas shook his head, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he wavered between wanting to hug Dean and wanting to strangle him just to shut him up.

“I rebelled against Heaven for you. I fought my way through Hell to raise you from perdition, and I’ve killed my own kind in order to keep you safe. I would do anything for you, Dean. Anything but that.”

The angel made his way towards the door as Sam’s heavy footsteps reached the top of the basement stairs.

Dean twisted around on the cot, watching his friend’s retreating back. “Cas…”

The angel paused by the entrance, turning back to look at the broken man one more time. “You may not think you’re worth saving, Dean, but I do, and you will _not_ die by my hand.”

Cas brushed shoulders with Sam as they passed each other in the doorway, refusing to stay one second longer than necessary.

Dean closed his eyes and hung his head, locking his jaw against the frustrated scream that was clawing at his throat as his only remaining chance for salvation turned his back on him and walked away.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are going to get pretty dark while Dean deals with another skeleton from his past, so please heed the trigger warnings I will be posting at the beginning of each chapter!


	11. Round Two- Randy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: PLEASE BE ADVISED! This chapter deals with some potential trigger issues including non-con drug use and non-graphic, non-con touching between an adult and a minor, so please proceed with caution! Thank you!**

Sam winced as Cas stormed out of the room, the angel’s anger pulsating off of him in waves. He considered following to make sure his friend was okay, but his current priority was his brother. 

He’d check on Cas later.

The younger Winchester wordlessly made his way over to the only table in the sparsely furnished room so he could relinquish the bags of goods that were weighing him down. 

He started rifling through his purchases, giving Dean enough privacy and time to wipe away the tears on his face with a corner of the blanket.

That was a sight Sam would never get used to.

After everything Dean had survived over the years, seeing him cry was a jarring reminder that the man was only human; a fact Sam tended to lose sight of more often than not. 

He desperately wanted to ask his brother if he was okay, but he already knew what the ingrained response would be. Instead, he tried, “So, did you two clear the air?”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered hollowly, his quiet tone far from convincing. “Everything’s fine, Sammy.” 

Dean could practically hear Sam’s “bullshit meter” going off from across the room, so he quickly cleared his throat and steered the conversation into safer waters. 

“You sure made good time. What’d you do, speed the whole way?”

The slight accusation in Dean’s voice made Sam huff out a laugh. “The car’s fine, Dean, if that’s what you’re asking. Not a scratch on her.”

“Better not be or I’ll kick your ass.”

This time Sam actually snorted, latching onto the bait like a lifeline. 

“You and what army?” He gathered up Dean’s lunch and made his way towards the cot. “Better start bulking up now if you want to stand a chance.”

Dean raised his eyebrows mockingly at Sam. “Was that a challenge, little brother?”

Sam dropped the bag of burgers and fries into Dean’s lap. 

“Nope. Just a friendly observation. No offense, but I think the little old lady I helped across the street at the mini mart could take you right now.”

Dean chuckled, the warmth in the sound finally thawing some of the ice in the room as only Dean could do, then he shook his head. “In your dreams, bitch.”

He looked down at the fast food that was quickly warming his thighs and tentatively cracked the top of the bag open. The smile fell from his lips as the scent of fried potatoes and processed meat immediately assaulted his senses.

He swallowed convulsively a few times, clenching his jaw and attempting to steady his queasy stomach, which somehow still managed to growl obnoxiously regardless of its aversion to the fast food aroma; clear evidence that he had passed hunger days ago and proceeded to starvation levels.

Nevertheless, the nausea won out. 

“I can’t, dude. I just…” He crumpled the steam-moistened bag back up again and held it out to his brother, pressing his other fist to his mouth as a preventative measure.

“Too soon for the greasy stuff?” Sam asked knowingly, retrieving the bag from Dean’s lax grip at his brother’s minute nod. “But you’ve gotta eat something, Dean. Want me to heat up some soup?”

“Not right now,” Dean rasped out through a closed throat. 

He shivered as his body fought against him, drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders even though he could feel sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. 

To say he felt like total crap was a blatant understatement. There was no sense pretending otherwise anymore.

Dean dropped his gaze to his lap, looking completely dejected. No doubt he was reprimanding himself for letting his little brother down.

Sam sighed and squeezed Dean’s shoulder gently. “Alright, man. Later then.”

He knew if he put his foot down and demanded that Dean eat something, Dean would force himself to obey the order. It was a knee-jerk reaction that had been instilled in his brother at an early age thanks to their military upbringing. 

Anything to make Sam or Dad happy, even if the result left Dean battered and broken.

It made Sam sick, but sometimes it was a necessary evil. Dean wasn’t great at taking care of himself, so there had been plenty of occasions in their past where Sam or John had been forced to step in and lay down the law. 

But Sam couldn’t do that to his brother right now. The man looked miserable enough already.

Instead, he went back to his purchases and traded the food out for a bottle of Gatorade. 

Dean hated the stuff, but if he wasn’t going to eat, he had to at least replace some of the electrolytes he had lost between the sweating and the vomiting earlier.

 _This_ option was non-negotiable.

Sam returned to his brother’s side to find Dean’s attention still focused determinedly on his lap. 

He held the bottle out where Dean could see it, gently pressing the bottom of it against his brother’s chest to shake him out of his stupor.

“Here. Try this for now.”

Dean didn’t take the drink. In fact, he didn’t move at all.

Frowning, Sam crouched down a bit to try and see his brother’s face. Dean was sweating profusely now, his wide eyes locked onto the lime-green drink, his breathing shallow and erratic.

“Dean? Hey, you gonna throw up?” Sam checked, but again, there was no response. Slowly reaching out so as not to startle his brother, Sam carefully raised Dean’s chin. “Look at me, man.”

When Dean’s gaze reluctantly met Sam’s, it was clear from the unadulterated fear in his eyes that he wasn’t seeing his little brother.

Instead, he found himself staring into a face that had haunted his dreams for decades, and the air instantly caught in his lungs.

_The man smiled down at him, pressing the neon colored Gatorade bottle against Dean’s chest until he took it._

_“Drink up, Deano! You look dead on your feet.”_

“No no no no no… Please, not this…” Dean whimpered so softly, Sam almost didn’t hear him.

The younger Winchester leaned forward, balancing himself with a hand on Dean’s knee. “Dean? What’s goin’ on?”

Sam watched as all the blood drained from his brother’s face, leaving him white as a sheet. A choked noise of protest escaped his throat and immediately put Sam on edge.

“Talk to me, man. Is it the cure? What are you seeing?”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly, his gaze staring right through Sam.

“Can you hear me, Dean?” Sam tried again, but still nothing. He might as well have been on another planet.

Dean could feel the warmth of the man’s hand emanating through his jeans where it rested heavily on his knee.

_“Anyone ever tell you how much you look like your mama?”_

Dean’s pupils were blown so wide, they were more black than green, and he was struggling to draw breath. The older Winchester was clearly caught in the midst of a panic attack.

Sam cupped the back of his brother’s neck, giving him a harsh shake. “Dean!”

Dean jolted as if he’d been electrocuted, instinctively latching onto Sam’s forearm with the intent of breaking free. Then recognition slowly dawned in his eyes as his gaze focused on his brother.

“Hey, you with me?”

Sam didn’t dare move until he got verbal confirmation that the older man was in control again. Cuffed or not, Dean was a dangerous man when under threat.

Dean blinked rapidly to clear his vision, his bone-crushing grip still locked around Sam’s wrist as his mind struggled to catch up. “…S-Sammy?”

The fear and confusion coloring his voice proved to Sam that all of his brother’s mental walls were currently down. 

Sam’s frown deepened and he knew he had to tread carefully or risk doing more harm than good. 

“Yeah, man. It’s just me. You alright?”

Dean’s gaze darted around the room, confirming that no one else was there before he let out a shuddering breath and released his death-grip on Sam.

“Sammy, listen to me. You can’t let… Ah!” Dean brought his bound hands up to press against his throbbing temples.

“Come on, Dean… Stay with me! Can’t let what?” Sam demanded, placing his own hands over his brother’s to help cradle his head.

But Dean’s body went rigid again with a barely audible gasp, his eyes glazing over as he was thrust once more into the past.

_Dean watched nervously as the man reached behind himself and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, fishing out a few twenties, which he then handed to Dean with a warm smile. “Here you go, buddy. This should tide you boys over for a while.”_

_Dean, who was sitting tensely on the very edge of the man’s ratty couch, his skinny knee bouncing up and down with anxiety, raised a hand and humbly accepted the offering._

_“Thanks for helpin’ us out, Randy. I uh… I didn’t wanna impose but the money Dad left ran out two weeks ago and I… I’m gettin’ kinda desperate here.”_

_He dropped his gaze to the money in his hand. Something about the man’s too wide of a smile always made it hard to maintain eye contact for long. “Dad was supposed to be back by now.”_

_Randy chuckled kindly, turning away and heading into the neighboring kitchen._

_“John does tend to run on his own schedule, doesn’t he? But don’t you worry, kid. I’ve got you boys covered till he rolls back in. Least I can do, considering your old man saved my hide more times than I care to admit!”_

_Randy reappeared a minute later with a beer in one hand and a bottle of lime-green Gatorade in the other. He pressed the Gatorade against Dean’s chest, knowing the boy would automatically take it._

_“Here. Drink up, Deano! You look dead on your feet. When was the last time you ate a real meal?”_

_“I dunno,” Dean answered honestly and Randy tutted, then took a pull from his beer, his eyes raking slowly over Dean’s lithe body, making the boy shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny._

_Dean suddenly found the plastic bottle’s nutrition label to be quite fascinating._

_He had only recently hit puberty and was self-conscious enough without people staring so intently at him._

_Did he really look that bad? Sure, he had lost some weight lately since he had been giving most of his food to Sammy ever since their money ran out._

_And, okay, maybe he hadn’t slept in about a week either, too worried about his father to get his mind to shut down properly, but still…_

_Randy watched the pink flush of embarrassment color Dean’s cheeks, then reached out and ruffled the pre-teen’s hair fondly._

_“Don’t worry, little man. We’ll get you back up to fightin’ weight in no time. But if you ask me, the way John leaves you behind to raise your baby bro is nothin’ short of child abuse.”_

_Dean jerked away at that and started to stand. “Thanks again for the loan, Randy, but I really should be gettin’ back to Sammy.”_

_The man scoffed, his close proximity giving Dean no room to maneuver or straighten up. A little pressure on his shoulder was all it took to return the boy’s half-starved body to his seat on the edge of the couch._

_“Relax, kid! What’s the rush?”_

_Dean tensed up, feeling caged, but then Randy took a step back and seated himself on the coffee table across from him._

_“Sammy’s asleep, ain’t he?” the man continued, before swallowing another mouthful of beer. “How much trouble could he possibly get into?”_

_Dean’s eyes darted towards the door reflexively as he mumbled, “You’d be surprised.”_

_The man laughed light-heartedly. “Little brothers can be pesky, huh?”_

_Dean shrugged, his knee bouncing out of control again as adrenaline coursed through his body. “Sammy’s not so bad. He doesn’t like being left alone though, so…”_

_Dean’s words cut off as the man’s hand suddenly landed on his knee, instantly stilling it. The boy swallowed hard, nearly choking on his own saliva in the process._

_He chanced a wary glance up, his gaze locking with the man’s who was still smiling at him in a way that made his skin crawl._

_“What?” he asked, feeling more unsure of himself than ever._

_The man considered him for a moment before responding. “Nothin’. Just… Been a few years since I’ve seen you boys. It’s crazy but… Anyone ever tell you how much you look like your mama?”_

Sam could feel tremors coursing through his brother’s frozen body. His muscles were coiled so tightly, it was a miracle he hadn’t snapped in half yet.

“Dean, listen to me… You’ve gotta fight this! It’s not real!”

Even without Dean’s confirmation, Sam had no doubts that the second trial was responsible for tormenting his brother. 

They weren’t ready for this. 

Dean needed more time to recover from the first round. Hell, _Sam_ needed more time. Why couldn’t they ever catch a break? Winchester luck at its best…

_Dean cleared his throat, chalking the man’s ramblings up to one too many beers before his arrival. “I’ve got a long walk ahead of me, Randy, so as much fun as it’s been catching up with you, I really gotta hit the road.”_

_“Nonsense. Look, I’ll make you a deal, kiddo,” Randy stated before pointing down to the Gatorade in Dean’s hands. “You finish that whole bottle so I know you’ve at least got somethin’ in your system, and I’ll get you a cab back to your motel so you don’t have to hoof it with all the leftovers I’m gonna pack up for you and Sammy. Fair enough?”_

_Dean bit his lip in consideration, dropping his eyes back down to the neon drink in his hands. Dad had the car so Dean had to walk six and a half miles just to get here._

_It was getting cold outside now that the sun had set, and he wasn’t particularly looking forward to dragging bags of food with him the whole way back._

_“So… Just this?” he asked cautiously while holding up the bottle, waiting for the other shoe to drop._

_Randy nodded. “Just that, and you’re free to go. Your dad would kill me if he found out I let you walk out of here with an empty stomach.”_

_The request seemed innocent enough, and Dean was feeling rather dehydrated from his walk to the man’s house, so with a drawn out sigh of capitulation, he twisted the cap off and took a tentative swig._

_The juice was sour and immediately roiled his otherwise empty stomach but he ignored it, putting all his concentration into emptying the bottle so he could get back to Sammy._

_Randy watched him carefully as Dean’s throat worked to swallow the bitter concoction._

_After a few gulps, Dean grimaced in disgust and made to lower the bottle in surrender, but Randy’s free hand reached up and tilted the bottom of the drink higher, forcing Dean to gulp faster or wear it._

_“You can do better than that, kiddo!”_

_Dean tried to protest, then ended up choking on the liquid. Seemingly oblivious to the boy’s plight, Randy didn’t relent. “That’s good, Dean. Just a little more…”_

_Dean had no choice but to fight past the urge to gag in favor of frantically swallowing, attempting to clear his passageways long enough to draw a breath._

_When the bottle was more than half empty, Dean yanked his head away, no longer caring that the result would be ice-cold juice all down his front._

_He spluttered and gasped for air, shooting pissed-off daggers at Randy as he wiped at his mouth and coughed wetly into his elbow._

_Randy simply released his hold on the bottle, slid over onto the couch next to Dean, and patted his back to help clear his lungs. His other hand squeezed Dean’s knee affectionately. “Atta boy...”_

Sam frowned in confusion as his brother slowly twisted the cap off of the Gatorade bottle and raised the juice to his dried lips. There was no emotion in his eyes and his movements were nothing short of robotic.

“Dean?” Sam prompted again, then waved a hand in front of his brother’s face. Still no sign Dean was aware of Sam’s presence. It was almost like he was hypnotized, completely oblivious to his own actions. 

“Hey!” Sam yelled, trying to startle his brother awake again, but Dean was too immersed this time to respond. 

He needed something stronger. 

Searching the room, Sam’s gaze landed on the bags of ice Cas had brought in earlier.

_Please let this work…_

He grabbed a handful of loose cubes, pulled the front of Dean’s blanket open further, and pressed the frozen crystals against his brother’s overheated chest.

Sam could feel Dean’s heart pounding wildly beneath his palm.

“Snap out of it, Dean!”

The older man suddenly blinked, then immediately spewed his mouthful of Gatorade out. 

Sam jumped back a step to avoid wearing it, accidentally dropping the chunks of ice into his brother’s lap but Dean didn’t seem to care about that.

His eyes were alight with blazing fires of fury and Sam barely had enough time to duck out of the way as Dean threw the rest of the bottle across the room with all his strength.

The plastic exploded against the cement wall, sending lime-green goo everywhere.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, shocked by his brother’s unexpectedly hostile reaction. “What are you…?!”

“Stay the hell away from me, you twisted sonofabitch!” Dean shouted back, then he stood up, the ice clattering to the floor as the blanket fell from his shoulders, and started yanking desperately against his restraints, swearing at them when they refused to give. 

“Damn it, come _on_!”

“Whoa! Take it easy!” Sam yelped, rushing forward again to try and stop his brother from hurting himself.

He wrapped his body around Dean’s back, corralling him against the cot to loosen the tension against the cuffs. In response, Dean snapped his head back into Sam’s nose.

Sam stumbled back a few steps in surprise, trying to stem the blood that started flowing freely down his face. A quick check confirmed that it wasn't broken, thankfully, but it was definitely going to give him raccoon eyes for a while.

Blinking back the automatic tears that were welling in his eyes from the pain, Sam surged forward again. “Dean, stop it! You’re safe, okay?! Look at me, man!” 

Dean turned his head and locked furious eyes with him.

“Let me go, you bastard!” he growled so fiercely, Sam was actually afraid. Not of the curse this time, but of his brother. “I swear ta God, I’m gonna kill you!”

“Dean, it’s _me_ …” he tried, raising his hands openly in a placating manner. “It’s Sam. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Dean’s vision was starting to swim in and out of focus, his limbs and eyelids getting heavier by the second as the room spun around him.

“Sammy? Sammy… Please…” he whispered, his struggle with the cuffs failing miserably as his sight slowly dimmed around the edges.

_Dean was suddenly feeling lightheaded and his eyes were having trouble focusing, but he was pretty sure he felt Randy’s hand sliding higher up his thigh._

_The boy surged to his feet, blinking heavily as his head swam._

_“I don’ feel so good…” he mumbled, stumbling as he tried to walk towards the exit. “Somethin’s wrong. I gotta… S’mmy. Shouldn’t’ve left him... ‘lone…”_

_The room tilted dangerously and Dean’s hand shot out to grip onto anything he could reach to steady himself, which resulted in him dropping the Gatorade bottle, drenching his new sneakers in a cold wave of neon juice._

__Dad’s gonna kill me… __

_“Whoa, easy there, Tiger!”_

_Randy was suddenly standing right next to Dean, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him toward a stained mattress in the other room._

_“You’re lookin’ a little tired, kiddo. Why don’t you lie down and rest for a sec till you get your bearings back?”_

_Dean’s eyelids were getting heavier by the second as Randy lowered him to sit on the edge of the bed. Maybe a quick nap wasn’t such a bad idea…_

_But his instincts were screaming at him that something was very wrong. He needed to get out of there. He needed to get back to Sammy._

_Dean forced himself to stand up again, and that’s when he blacked out, his head connecting harshly with the metal bed frame on the way down._

Sam watched in horror as Dean’s eyes suddenly rolled up into the back of his head and his body went limp. If it hadn’t been for Sam’s fast reflexes, Dean would’ve hit the floor or found himself hanging by his chained wrists.

Even more worrisome was the gash that suddenly opened up over Dean’s right eyebrow for no apparent reason, spilling blood down the side of his face.

“Dean?! _Dean_!!”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins round two of the cure! Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story so far :)


	12. Past Tense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: PLEASE BE ADVISED! This chapter deals with some potential trigger issues including abuse and non-con touching between an adult and a minor so proceed with caution! Thank you!**

Sam struggled to get a better hold on Dean’s limp body, feeling like a puppeteer manipulating a marionette whose strings were a tangled mess.

“I’ve gotcha, man. You’re okay,” he whispered softly, comforting himself more than anything as he draped his brother’s cuffed wrists around his neck to halt Dean’s slow descent to the floor. 

Then he hooked his right arm under Dean’s knees and straightened up with a strained grunt.

It took some doing, but eventually Sam managed to settle his brother’s dead weight back onto the thinly padded cot and into a relatively comfortable looking position. 

That’s when he got his first good look at the gash above Dean’s eyebrow. The bright red fluid dripping down the side of his face stood out starkly against the sickly pallor of Dean’s skin.

And unless Sam was very much mistaken, that fresh cut had opened directly over an old scar his brother had gotten years ago. Dean couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen at the time. 

He had never told Sam what had happened to him that night, no matter how much Sam had pestered his big brother about it over the years. 

Dean even went so far as to threaten Sam with bodily harm once, so eventually, Sam stopped asking. One thing was for sure though… This wasn’t how he had wanted to find out.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Sam grabbed the med kit off the table and started laying out his supplies.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

_Dean became keenly aware of two things as he slowly clawed his way back towards consciousness._

_Firstly, his head was throbbing harshly enough to send waves of nausea rippling through his body and he couldn’t quite stifle the involuntary groan that slipped past his dry lips._

_Secondly, someone with big, strong hands was dabbing at his face with a cold, wet cloth._

_Every muscle was demanding that Dean surrender to the blissful darkness again, but he had inherited his father’s stubborn streak._

_So with a significant effort, he managed to crack his eyes open long enough to glimpse the blurry outline of a large shadow sitting on the bed next to his right hip._

_“D-D’d?” he grunted out, then promptly squeezed his eyes shut again with a hiss, jerking his head to the left as the cloth swiped over a raw spot just above his right eyebrow._

_“Shh…” came the soothing response, and a warm hand cradled Dean’s cheek, gently turning his face back toward the soft light emanating from the bedside lamp._

_This time, the wet cloth was carefully held against Dean’s wound, the cold water helping to ease away the burn._

_The tension slowly bled from Dean’s muscles and he found himself leaning into the gentle touch, seeking any comfort he could get._

_But all too soon, both the hand and the cloth had disappeared._

_Without those tangible touches anchoring him to the here and now, Dean felt himself spiraling back down into the dark unknown._

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Sam soaked a piece of gauze in hydrogen peroxide, then rubbed it over Dean’s wound, needing to see the full extent of the damage below the thick coating of blood. 

His brother flinched slightly at the burn, but didn’t wake.

Normally, a cut that deep would warrant stitches, but considering how quickly Dean’s back had healed after the first trial, Sam figured they could get away with a few butterfly bandages for now and let the mark handle the rest.

He disinfected the entire area, then sprinkled some Cayenne over the cut to help stop the bleeding.

Once the wound was relatively dry again, he pinched the two sides together and applied the bandages.

As soon as he was sure the adhesive strips would hold, he switched his focus to cleaning his brother up. 

He grabbed a fresh towel, poured some bottled water over it, then set about washing the blood from Dean’s face and neck.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

_The second time Dean came back to himself, he was a little less disoriented, and a little more aware of his surroundings. But unfortunately, the pain levels hadn’t changed at all._

_His eyebrows drew together in a wince, and he felt the unmistakable tug of medical tape across the right side of his forehead. His dad must have patched him up while he was out._

_What the hell had happened? Was it a hunt gone wrong? He was too tired to make sense of anything._

_Distantly, he recognized the sound of liquid being rung from a cloth into some type of ceramic bowl; probably the one they used for rituals considering most of their bowls tended to be made of paper or plastic and bought at the nearest supermarket._

_He jumped in surprise as the freshly cooled cloth descended on his skin again without warning, this time swiping briefly at his neck before progressing down to his chest._

_His **bare** chest, he suddenly realized. Had he seriously gone to bed like that?_

_He shifted slightly, grimacing in disgust at the feel of the rough and gritty bed sheet against the sensitive skin of his back. He must’ve been really feverish to have chanced crawling under the motel’s covers without the protection of multiple layers of shirts._

_He was going to have to shower six times a day for at least a month in order to feel clean again. Dad’s impromptu sponge bath wasn’t quite going to cut it._

_The bite of the cold water against his heated skin sent a chill racing up Dean’s spine, forcing goosebumps to rise all over his body as the cool air from the room ghosted over his dampened flesh._

_His frown deepened in discomfort and he mumbled out an unintelligible protest as he tried to shy away from the wandering hand._

_Much to his disgruntle, Dean’s protest apparently went unheard- or it was being ignored- and the cloth continued on its downward path._

_It glided across his ribs, raked over his lightly defined abs, and brushed against the waistband of his low-riding jeans, washing away the grimy, sticky feeling that coated his torso; no doubt a product of fever sweats Dean reasoned._

_Though, for some strange reason, he was sure he could smell the sour blend of lemon-lime coming from his skin. The scent tickled a memory in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t concentrate enough to grasp onto it._

_When the cloth disappeared again, Dean attempted to prepare himself for its return. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was for the strong hands to reappear, sans cloth, and begin tugging at his belt._

_More than a little mortified at the idea of being undressed by his father when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, Dean started to squirm in earnest._

_He tried to push John’s hands away, but that’s when he discovered that his own hands weren’t responding._

_Worse than that, any attempts to pull his arms down from above his head were accompanied by the echoing clang of metal on metal._

_Adrenaline shot through the boy’s veins so quickly that when his eyes flew open, the pain in his head barely registered._

_He immediately craned his neck and arched his back far enough to verify that, yes, his wrists were in fact handcuffed to the bed’s metal headboard._

_He tugged harder against the restraints, the sharp steel of the cuffs biting into his tender flesh. Then the man’s right hand pressed firmly against his chest, forcing him flat against the mattress again and restricting his movements at the same time._

_“Relax,” a familiar voice ordered, though it definitely didn’t belong to Dean’s father. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself than it has to be.”_

_Dean warily lowered his gaze to the man leaning over him, but it took a few blinks to get the guy’s face into focus._

_“R-Randy?” he gasped out, his voice shaking almost as much as his body while his brain struggled to make sense of his current predicament. “Wha’s goin’ on? Where’s my dad?”_

_“Got a message to send to your father. You were always a good kid, Deano. I’m truly sorry that you’re the one who’ll have to pay for his sins.”_

_That’s when it all came rushing back to Dean, and his eyes widened in fear._

_He bucked in surprise as Randy’s other hand managed to finish unfastening Dean’s buckle, then pulled it free of his belt loops._

_“Open up,” Randy demanded before forcing the leather between Dean’s teeth and securing it tightly at the back of the kid’s head._

_Dean twisted his neck from side to side, trying to push the gag back out, but only succeeding in cutting the corners of his mouth._

_He slumped back against the mattress with a frustrated huff, admitting temporary defeat._

_“Good boy,” the man praised, patting Dean’s cheek before straightening up again. “Now then… What do you say we give Daddy a call?”_

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Sam nearly had a heart attack when he saw the blood glistening at the corners of Dean’s mouth. 

His mind had immediately jumped to the conclusion that his brother was internally bleeding all of a sudden, but after a little investigating, he was relieved to find that the blood was only coming from the sides of Dean’s lips and not up through his throat.

It was a strange injury, to be sure. One Sam had only seen when… When people were gagged with something abrasive.

With his chest still constricting painfully, Sam checked his brother’s wrists again and found fresh bruising and scratches a good inch or so away from where Dean’s cuffs were currently located.

Dean hadn’t just been mugged the night he went out as Sam had initially assumed. 

He had been taken; bound and gagged by someone with the intent of doing harm to a twelve-year-old boy.

Sam’s blood was boiling beneath his skin. But even unconscious, his brother was able to one-up him.

Dean’s body was throwing off so much heat, Sam had to keep stripping off his own layers until he was down to a T-shirt just so he could tolerate being in the same room with him. The man was a human furnace.

He lined his brother’s torso with more ice packs, but there wasn’t much else he could do to fight off a supernaturally induced fever, so he pulled his chair closer to the cot and sank down onto it, waiting for any more signs of stress from Dean.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

_Randy pulled a small, handwritten note from his shirt pocket, which Dean immediately recognized as the one that he had been carrying around in his jeans for the past few weeks._

_John had scribbled an emergency phone number on it so Dean would be able to reach him if need be. The rule was to leave a message and John would call the motel they were staying at as soon as he could._

_Dean’s heart sank._

_He wasn’t_ at _the motel. Sammy was, and Sammy had no idea what was happening. And when John found out Dean wasn’t there to answer the phone, the shit would hit the fan._

_Randy picked up the landline from the bedside table and began punching in the numbers. Dean shook his head frantically at him, but the man already had the phone up to his ear._

_Much to Dean’s surprise, John answered on the third ring._

_**“Hey, buddy. Sorry I’m late. The crocotta took longer to track down than I expected. Damned thing kept shiftin’ on me.”** _

_Randy smirked. “Sounds like a tough hunt, John. I almost feel bad about makin’ your night worse.”_

_Silence followed Randy’s statement, then, **“Who the hell is this?”**_

_“What, you don’t recognize my voice, old friend? I’m hurt.”_

_**“…Randy? How did you get this number?”** _

_“From a little bird’s back pocket. He says ‘hi’ by the way. Turns out the boys were gettin’ short on funds, Johnny. Deano here found my number in your emergency call listing and came to pay me a visit.”_

_**“Put my son on the phone,”** John growled._

_“See, I would, but… He’s a little tied up right now. Ain’t that right, kiddo?” He winked at Dean who ground his teeth into the belt furiously._

_**“What do you want?”** _

_“That’s just it, John. I’ve already got what I want. Well, more like a consolation prize, I suppose. But he is one beautiful lookin’ kid, I’ll give ya that.”_

_**“…I swear, Randy, if you touch a hair on his head…”** _

_“I think we’re already past idle threats, Johnny. I gave him the money he asked for, so it only seems fair that he work for it now. But don’t you worry. Unlike you, I’d be willin’ to give him back again once I’m done. What’s left of him, anyway...”_

_**“You son of a bitch!”** _

_“Keep sweet-talkin’ me, John. Maybe I’ll leave the line open so you can participate too. I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say I’m probably Deano’s first, am I right? I promise I’ll try to be gentle.”_

_**“How do I know you even have him?”** John bit out._

_“Excellent question. I suppose I could describe the cute little birthmark he’s got just above his left hip…”_

_Randy ran a finger over the mark, making Dean flinch under the contact._

_“Or I could tell you how much he hates the taste of lemon-lime Gatorade when it’s mixed with sedatives… But you caught me in a charitable mood, so why don’t I let Dean tell you himself? Go ahead, kiddo.”_

_Randy held the phone out towards Dean, watching him expectantly._

_Dean wasn’t an idiot. He knew this was all designed to bait his father into a trap, and he wasn’t about to play along._

_If it hadn’t been for the belt in his mouth, he would’ve tried to warn his dad or feed him any information he could that would give John the upper hand, but his next best option was to just keep silent._

_He refused to play a part in Randy’s twisted game of cat and mouse._

_The man frowned, clearly not amused by Dean’s resistance. “Hang on, Johnny. Looks like I’m gonna have to loosen your kid’s tongue a bit first.”_

_Randy reached forward and grasped Dean’s right index finger, his intent perfectly clear._

_“Last chance, kiddo…”_

_Dean glared up at the man defiantly, hiding his fear behind a mask that was taunting Randy to give it his best shot._

_Randy smirked back, regaining his unsettling sense of humor._

_“No? Well if I had known you were so eager to get started, Deano, I would’ve skipped all the foreplay.”_

_He twisted Dean’s finger, forcing the bones to snap, and as much as he tried to contain it, Dean couldn’t help but scream._

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

While Sam sat by his brother’s side in silence, his mind began to wander.

He had only been eight the night his brother got that scar. Dean had gone out to get them some more food and Sam had fallen asleep in front of the TV waiting for him to return.

He was startled awake hours later when the motel door was kicked open and he sat up just in time to see his dad half dragging an incredibly pale and bloodied Dean over the threshold.

Before he could ask any questions, John maneuvered Dean into the bathroom and slammed the door behind them. 

Once the initial shock wore off, Sam shakily made his way over to the door and sat down next to it, waiting silently for someone to come back out and tell him what was going on. 

He could hear muffled voices coming from the bathroom, mostly John’s as far as Sam could tell, followed by the sound of the shower running.

Nearly an hour went by before his father emerged again, a semi-conscious Dean cradled in his arms. Sam had wanted to demand an explanation, but one look at his dad’s haunted expression told him to let it go.

_There had been so much blood…_

“You’re bleeding.”

The deep voice coming from the doorway startled Sam back to the present. 

He glanced over to find Cas frowning at him in concern and immediately raised a hand to his upper lip, feeling the crusted blood from his own injury that he had completely forgotten about.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Nevertheless, Cas made his way over and tapped Sam’s forehead, instantly clearing up the blood as well as the light bruising around his eyes.

“Thanks,” Sam stated with a sincere smile before they both turned their attention back to Dean.

“How is he?” Cas questioned somberly, circling the cot and taking in Dean’s latest injuries. 

Sam could tell the angel was feeling guilty for how he had left things with Dean earlier.

“Round two started about half an hour ago,” the younger Winchester replied with a heavy sigh. “He passed out shortly after. What do you think the chances are of him just sleepin’ through the whole thing?”

Before Cas could answer, a sharp crack echoed through the room, followed closely by Dean’s muffled scream. 

Sam jumped to his feet and tried to hold his brother down as Dean writhed in agony.

“What the hell was that?!” Sam asked in a panic as his eyes searched Dean’s body for an explanation. It didn’t take him long to find it. “Shit…”

Sam mentally kicked himself, wondering how on Earth he had managed to forget about the splint his brother had been forced to wear for weeks after he came home injured. 

Once Dean was well enough to start talking again, he took to constantly complaining about how annoying it was to not be able to use his hand properly. 

John had flat-out refused to remove the splint until the break had completely healed, and went so far as to threaten putting a hard cast up to Dean’s elbow if he kept playing with it. 

Needless to say, that had shut Dean up quickly.

Sam dove for the med kit and gave his brother a local anesthetic to help ease the pain. 

He stood over him with bated breath until Dean finally settled again, then ran a weary hand through his unruly hair as he slowly let the air flow back out of his lungs.

“I don’t know how to help him this time, Cas,” Sam admitted quietly as he slumped back into his chair, glancing up at the angel. “I have no idea who’s hurting him or why.”

Cas brushed his thumb over the bruised skin surrounding Dean’s gashed forehead, his expressive eyes filling with regret.

“I do.”

Sam scoffed incredulously. “This happened years before you ever met us, Cas. How could you possibly…?” 

Then he sat up straighter, his eyes locking onto Cas’ hand as it smoothed the frown lines from Dean’s forehead. 

“Unless you just used your angel hocus pocus on him?” he asked, hopefully.

Cas shook his head. “No. I don’t need to connect with your brother’s mind this time. I saw it all happen first hand.”

Sam frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I was there, Sam. I was in the room when he… That night was the first- and last- time your brother ever prayed to Heaven for help. I was permitted to watch over him, but I was under strict orders not to interfere with his destiny.”

“So… what?” Sam demanded, clenching his shaking hands into fists before they wrapped themselves around the angel’s neck. “You just hovered over him and watched while some strangers beat the hell out of him?”

Cas bowed his head in sorrow. “There was nothing I could do. Even if I chose to disobey direct orders, I had no vessel with which I could intervene.”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses, Cas. I want you to tell me what you saw that night. Dean went through it alone the first time, and I’m not gonna let that happen to him again, do you understand?”

“I understand, Sam.” Cas glanced over at the broken pieces of Gatorade bottle scattered across the floor in front of the far wall. “The first thing you need to know is that it wasn’t a stranger who harmed your brother.”

Sam felt stomach acid crawling up the back of his throat. “What?” he forced out past clenched teeth.

“It was an old friend of your father’s. An emergency contact John had neglected to remove from his journal after their falling out. 

“Dean had gone to ask the man for help because he had run out of funds. From what I could gather, the man felt your father had cheated him out of something years before, and decided to take Dean as his compensation.”

“What did he want from him?”

“A replacement for Mary. He had every intention of wedding your mother until John came into the picture. And when he found out your mother had died in the fire… It unhinged the man, Sam. Breaking Dean was his means of revenge.”

Sam slowly rose to his feet, murder in his eyes. “Who did this, Cas? I want a name.”

Cas dropped his gaze back down to Dean, unable to stand the intensity of Sam’s glare.

“His name was Randy.”

That took some of the wind out of Sam’s sails. “… _Was?_ ” he asked shakily.

“Your brother killed him, Sam.”

TBC


	13. Baiting the Hook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: PLEASE BE ADVISED! This chapter deals with some potential trigger issues including non-graphic non-con touching between an adult and a minor so please proceed with caution! Thank you!**

Sam’s righteous indignation fizzled out like a punctured balloon, leaving nothing but an aching emptiness in its wake. 

But the longer he stood there contemplating the angel’s statement, the more that void began to fill with denial.

“No. No, Dean wouldn’t… I-I mean, he was only twelve, Cas. How could he…?”

There had been so much blood on his brother when John had brought him home that night; too much for a twelve-year-old to be covered in and still be alive if Sam were honest with himself. 

Unless, of course, it hadn’t all been Dean’s blood.

A sickening dread flooded Sam’s insides, making them writhe uncomfortably like a pit of snakes. 

There was no doubt in his mind that Dean would’ve been physically capable of such an act, even as a child. 

After all, by the age of ten, John had already taught his eldest at least fifty different ways to make sure his opponent never got back up again, and Dean was a damned good soldier.

A damned good _killer._

But John had also taught his boys how to incapacitate in a non-lethal way. 

Taking a human life had never been acceptable in the Winchester rulebook. They _saved_ people by hunting the things that went bump in the night and left the real psychos, like the Benders, for the cops to handle.

Dean would never just…

An old memory, long buried, unwittingly resurfaced in Sam’s mind, as clear as if it had happened yesterday; the day Dean shot Meg’s brother to stop the man from beating the living pulp out of Sam.

The possessed meatsuit’s rightful owner had been an innocent bystander. Dean had known there was a person trapped in that body, and yet he didn’t hesitate to put a bullet in the man’s head. 

He didn’t even flinch.

 _'Maybe because that hadn’t been his first kill…'_ Sam's brain supplied.

He brusquely wiped away the tear that had started to slide down his cheek. He wasn’t being fair to Dean. He knew his brother had killed that demon to save him, and Sam would’ve done the same had the situation been reversed. 

Dean had had a justifiable reason for ending that man’s life, and if his brother had truly killed Randy all those years ago, he would’ve had a damned good reason for that too.

“Sam?” Cas prompted tentatively, having watched the younger Winchester cycle through the five stages of grief in alarmingly quick succession.

“It was self-defense,” Sam stated, emotionless, staring down at his big brother and willing the words to be true. “He had no other choice.”

Cas looked up at him, his voice full of pity. “If it gives you comfort to see it that way.”

Sam rubbed harshly at his forehead, wishing beyond hope that he could erase everything that had happened that day and just start over again.

“Cas, could he have…” Sam bit his lower lip, debating on whether or not he really wanted an answer to his question. “Could Dean have escaped without taking that man’s life?”

The angel hesitated, sensing that the younger Winchester was only holding it together by a thin thread. But if he really wanted to know the truth… “Yes, Sam. He could’ve.” 

Sam closed his eyes and let Cas’ words marinate for a minute before looking up at the angel with a heavy heart. “Then why’d he do it, Cas? What happened that night? What did Randy do to my brother?”

Cas sighed in resignation. This wasn’t his story to tell, but if Sam knowing the truth would enable him to help the older man in any way, the ends would justify the means. 

“He took something from Dean. Something that can never be replaced.”

Sam frowned in confusion before dropping his gaze back down to his brother, searching for whatever was missing. “What’d he take?”

Cas laid a hand gently on Dean’s chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat as he watched the unconscious Winchester’s face for any signs of distress or waking. 

“He took your brother’s innocence,” he responded quietly.

It took Sam nearly ten painstakingly long seconds to decipher what the angel was trying to tell him, then his knees gave out and he wretched on the floor.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

_Dean choked off his scream as quickly as he could, but the damage had already been done. His dad would be coming for him now, and thanks to Dean’s long list of screw-ups, the night was inevitably going to end bloody._

_He squeezed his eyes closed, ignoring the tears running down his temples as he tried to swallow the pain that was resonating from his broken finger all the way up to his elbow and back again._

_“Easy now…” Randy coached, rubbing calming circles over Dean’s shuddering chest to try and help him steady his breathing. “I know it hurts. I didn’t want to do that, kid, but you didn’t leave me with much choice now, did you?”_

_Dean grunted out a muffled swear that started with “F” and ended with “you”. Randy snorted and tousled Dean’s hair again._

_“You’ve got a lot of fight in ya, boy. Can’t argue that.”_

_Dean barely registered the weight on the bed lifting as Randy got up and moved away, but seconds later, he jerked as a bright light suddenly flashed through his clenched eyelids, followed by the whirring sound of small gears._

_Dean forced his eyes back open in time to see Randy taking a quick step to his left, then one step back before raising the Polaroid camera to his eye and temporarily blinding Dean as the sizable bulb lit up again._

_The picture was ejected from the camera and Randy added it to the first one, shaking them both and waiting for the images to develop. Once they did, the man’s grin widened._

_“Truly stunning.” He studied the photos carefully like he had just discovered a new species, then glanced back over at Dean. “You know, I’m willin’ to bet some people would pay top dollar for these beauties. What do you think, kid? Wanna be famous?”_

_Dean squirmed in objection, pulling against his restraints as heat burned through his flushed cheeks for the second time that night._

_Randy chuckled._

_“You’re adorable when you blush,” he stated warmly as if he were wooing a lover. Dean’s stomach twisted at the thought. “Your mama used to do that too, beet-red all the way to the tips of her ears. She was never very good at accepting compliments.”_

_Dean yanked harder against the cuffs, his anger fueling his strength at the mention of his mother again. What did she ever see in this guy, anyway?_

_One particularly violent tug resulted in a grunt of pain as he aggravated his broken finger._

_“Calm yourself, Tiger. I want you conscious when the real fun begins.”_

_Dean warily tracked Randy’s movements as the man approached the bed and sank back down onto the edge of the mattress._

_“Speaking of… What do you say we leave John a little keepsake for all his trouble? I mean, it’s the least I can do, considering he took care of the crocotta I may have accidentally let loose nearby to get you boys in the area. Would’ve looked great in my trophy room, but I was huntin’ bigger fish.”_

_Dean’s eyes widened as he realized how far this man was willing to go for his revenge. According to the papers, five locals had died at the hands of that creature. One had been a little girl, not much older than Sammy._

_And all because Randy needed bait to lure the Winchesters to town._

_The man was certifiable._

_“Thing is, I’ve been searchin’ for you boys all week. Your daddy is good at coverin’ his tracks, I’ll give him that. I checked every motel within twenty miles of the crocotta’s kill zone, but considerin’ Johnny took the car and paid under a fake name, I didn’t have much to go on. And here’s the real kicker to the story…”_

_Randy leaned down, his lips brushing Dean’s ear as he lowered his voice._

_“I had just about given up on findin’ you. Would’ve had to settle for tracking your daddy down in the woods and puttin’ a bullet in him, but it wouldn’t have been quite as satisfying. Still, it would’ve been better than nothin’! I had just finished loading up the truck and was about to head out, so imagine my surprise when, in the eleventh hour, I find you knockin’ at my door!”_

_The man sat back up and patted Dean’s cheek._

_“Fate can be funny like that sometimes, don’tcha think?” He lifted the camera and held it directly in front of Dean for a close-up. “Now then… Smile for Daddy, Deano.”_

_Dean quickly twisted his head away, hiding his face against his inner arm._

_“Uh uh uh,” Randy tutted, running his thumb across Dean’s rosy cheek before slipping two fingers beneath the belt and yanking Dean’s head back around to face the camera._

_Dean winced as the leather cut deeper into the sides of his mouth, but then schooled his expression into the best glare he could muster as Randy snapped another photo, then set the camera aside._

_As soon as the man released him, Dean dropped his head back to the pillow and stared resolutely up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly to clear the moisture from his eyes._

_Hunters were supposed to kill the monsters and protect the people. Because of this man, five more innocents had died needlessly. The little girl… Her name had been Kylie._

_Dean flinched as Randy reached forward again, anticipating more pain and humiliation, but the man’s hand was gentle as it smoothed away his tear tracks._

_“Don’t you worry, kiddo. Your dad’ll be here soon and this’ll all be over. In the meantime, I guess we’ll just have to keep each other entertained.”_

_Dean’s struggles redoubled as the man’s hand drifted down to the button of Dean’s jeans._

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

“Sam, are you alright?” Cas looked sympathetic as he crouched down next to the younger Winchester, hovering awkwardly as Sam’s stomach rebelled again.

Dean’s pleas from earlier were ringing in Sam’s head, and his newfound understanding of them hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

_“Sammy, listen to me. You can’t let… Ah! Stay the hell away from me, you twisted sonofabitch! Let me go, you bastard! I swear ta God I’m gonna kill you! Sammy? Sammy… Please…”_

_God, Dean…_

The angel reached out to share comfort with the distraught man, but his hand was quickly knocked aside.

“How _could_ you?” Sam panted angrily as he wiped at his lips. “Cas, how could you just stand there and watch it happen? How could all of Heaven turn a blind eye while that son-of-a-bitch got his rocks off with a _child?!_ ”

Castiel dropped his gaze, overcome by a complex mixture of shame and indignation.

“It was not my decision to make. Our orders were to observe and report, nothing more. As I said before, we were not permitted to interfere.”

“Why not?” Sam demanded, then turned away and spat on the floor to try and clear the foul taste of acidic bile from his mouth.

“Because your brother was being tested that night, Sam.”

“Tested? What the hell for? His loyalty to God? His belief in _you_ guys? Cause I’m pretty sure he lost both of those that day.”

“It was never a question of faith. It was a question of endurance.”

Sam huffed in exasperation. “What are you talking about?”

“You and your brother have both faced countless crucibles over the years, all of which were necessary to prepare the two of you for the end of days and the apocalyptic battle between Heaven and Hell.”

“You mean to prepare us to be Lucifer and Michael’s meat puppets,” the younger man bit back sourly, his hands curling into fists against the cold, hard floor.

Cas nodded gravely. 

“You’ve seen what happens to vessels that aren’t strong enough to harness the power of angels. We had to be certain you would be able to survive the process or it all would’ve been for nothing.”

Sam laughed darkly and staggered to his feet, towering over the crouched angel. 

“Look around, Cas! It _was_ all for nothing! The angels were the ones who started the damned apocalypse in the first place, and if you guys had just left well enough alone, none of this would’ve happened!”

Cas dropped his gaze, submissively. “I understand that now, Sam. Zachariah had his own intentions that we were unaware of at the time. It was his actions that put your brother into peril.”

“Into peril?” Sam sneered back. “Do you have any idea how much damage you guys did to Dean that night because of your stupid little test?”

“I witnessed the fallout, yes,” Cas replied softly, head bowed under the weight of guilt.

“My brother didn’t make a sound for the entire first week,” Sam pressed on as if the angel hadn’t responded. “I could tell his pain levels were off the charts, but he wouldn’t even whine about it. It was like he was afraid he’d draw attention to himself or something. 

“He wouldn’t talk to me, or Dad, or Bobby… Not to anyone. And if any of us went near him, he’d panic and end up hurting himself more. So Dad had to wait for him to pass out from the pain or exhaustion before he could get close enough to change Dean’s bloodied bandages.”

Cas swallowed hard against the lump in his throat as he pushed himself back onto his feet to face the younger Winchester’s wrath head-on. “Sam, I…”

“He also refused to drink out of bottles or eat anything we put in front of him, even to the point at which Dad had to hold him down and force-feed him to keep him alive. It was either that or shove a feeding tube up through his nose and down into his stomach, but Dean would’ve ripped that out in a heartbeat if we didn’t restrain him, so we did it the old-fashioned way instead. 

“At first, he fought with everything he had. Even begged a few times for us to stop and let him go. You know, my dad actually cried after that, Cas. John fuckin’ Winchester _cried_ while my brother choked and whimpered in his arms. You should’ve seen the betrayal in Dean’s eyes when I had to help hold him down.”

Sam took a second to regroup as the horrible memories flashed through his head in vivid Technicolor. 

Dean wasn’t the only one being forced to relive one of the worst moments of his life. He let out a shaky breath, then continued.

“But eventually, Dean stopped fighting, and that was even worse. He was broken, Cas. A shell of the brother that I used to know. During the day, he’d just stay curled up on the motel bed with his back against the wall like a cornered animal. And every night he’d toss and turn for about an hour before screaming himself awake, just like he did after Hell. 

“My dad would get up to go comfort him, but let’s just say having a big shadow looming over Dean didn’t help. And since no one would tell me what really happened, there wasn’t much I could do to calm him either. God, if it hadn’t been for Bobby’s infinite patience after Dad finally gave up and dumped us at his doorstep…”

Sam ran a hand through his hair, verging on hysterics.

“We could’ve lost Dean because of what happened that night, do you realize that? All because you were too afraid to think for yourself! He prayed for your help and you did _nothing_. You should’ve protected him, Cas! You were right there! You could’ve…” 

Sam’s voice cut off as he bit his lower lip, trying to rein in his anger. 

“Just tell me one thing. If you were able to go back and do it again, knowing what you know now, would you have done anything differently?”

Cas considered the younger man’s question carefully, then looked over at Dean, his eyes pained though his words were resolute. “No, Sam. I would not.”

Sam’s fist connected with the angel’s jaw before he could consider the consequences. 

Pain radiated up his arm as if he had punched a cement wall. Even worse, Cas didn’t appear to be the slightest bit phased aside from the deep sadness in his eyes.

“I understand your anger, Sam, but fate works in mysterious ways. It is not my place to question it.”

Sam bristled, grinding his teeth. “And I thought _Randy_ was the monster in all this…”

Cas sighed, suddenly feeling every day his age. “Changing the past changes the present. What happened back then played a big part in who your brother is today.”

“Yeah. Now he’s guarded, paranoid, damaged…”

“...Strong, brave, _alive_.”

Sam shook his head and brushed past Cas dismissively, making his way back to Dean’s side, standing protectively between his brother and the angel.

“You should go, Cas. I can handle things from here.”

Cas’s eyes narrowed in suspicion at the implication. “What are you going to do, Sam?”

“Whatever it takes to help my brother. But I guess that’s something you wouldn’t understand.”

Cas didn’t rise to the bait. There were more important issues at hand. “You can’t mess with the cure, Sam. It will do more harm than good. You have to let it run its course.”

“No. I can’t just leave him trapped in his own head with Randy again. I won’t.”

“The trial has already begun. There is nothing you can do about that now.”

“Yes, there is. I figured out how to wake him up. Just gotta shock his system enough. Pain seems to work best.” 

The younger man carefully took hold of Dean’s broken finger and braced himself.

“Sam, wait…” The angel took a step towards his charge but Sam easily cut him off. 

“Stay back, Cas. I’ll banish you if I have to.”

Cas raised his hands to appear non-threatening, then retreated a step to keep the tentative peace. “Please, Sam. If Dean doesn’t complete all of the trials, the cure will fail.”

“Then we’ll just have to find another way.”

“Before or after the mark takes hold of him again?”

Cas saw the doubt flicker in the younger man’s eyes, but it only lasted a second before being replaced by steely determination.

“He _begged_ me, Cas, before he passed out. I think Dean was trying to say don’t let Randy… Don’t let him hurt me again. My brother can’t handle this a second time on his own. At the very least, I need him to know I’m still here.”

Cas nodded, a small smile of understanding tugging at the corners of his lips, surprising Sam enough to make him forget his anger.

“What? Why are you smiling?”

“Because it wasn’t Bobby, Sam.”

Sam frowned in confusion. “What wasn’t?”

“It wasn’t Bobby Singer who pulled your brother out of his darkness last time. It was _you_ , and I have faith you’ll be able to do it again when the time comes.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially past the halfway mark! More to come soon. Please review! :)


	14. On the Cutting Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: PLEASE BE ADVISED! This chapter deals with some potential trigger issues including non-con touching between an adult and a minor, so please proceed with caution! Thank you!**

_“It wasn’t Bobby Singer who pulled your brother out of his darkness last time. It was you, and I have faith you’ll be able to do it again when the time comes.”_

The angel’s words gave Sam a moment of comfort, then left him feeling hollow. He didn’t want to just be there to pick up the pieces. He wanted to stop his brother from shattering in the first place.

Cas had clearly resigned himself to Dean’s impending fate already, but Sam wasn’t willing to do the same. 

Not yet. Not while he still had a card to play.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

_Just as the button on the boy’s jeans gave way, Dean managed to raise his left knee high enough to connect with the side of Randy’s head, effectively knocking him off the edge of the mattress with a surprised grunt._

_Dean followed through with the kick, using his momentum to flip himself over and get his knees under his body for better leverage. Facing the headboard now, he leaned back and pulled with all his strength and his heart leapt with hope at the whine of grating metal._

_The decorative pole he was cuffed to was slowly separating from its curved frame._

_Emboldened and riding an adrenaline high, Dean shifted slightly and pulled again from another angle, desperately trying to weaken the fused framework._

_He studiously ignored the blood dripping from his tormented wrists and the screaming of his strained shoulders. If he could just get himself free, a little blood loss and a few muscle tears would definitely be worth it._

_Dean was so focused on the fusion point between the two pieces of metal that his pounding heart nearly stopped in his chest as a heavy body suddenly collided with his back, jackknifing him forward into the headboard and instantly releasing the tension against the cuffs._

_His hands instinctively shot out to catch himself on the bar he was cuffed to, just barely preventing his face from slamming into the unforgiving metal._

_Before he had a chance to regroup and straighten up, Randy plastered himself against Dean’s bare back, caging him against the headboard._

_The man’s left hand clamped down over both of Dean’s, keeping them secured to the bar in front of him and eliciting a pained cry from the boy as the pressure twisted his broken finger even more out of place._

_“You Winchester boys just never know when to quit, do ya?” Randy panted next to Dean’s ear, prompting the boy to struggle even harder._

_That is, till Randy’s right hand brought a hunting knife up to Dean’s throat in clear warning and the boy finally froze, not even daring to swallow with the blade nestled so closely to his Adam’s apple._

_“That’s more like it,” the man praised, nuzzling against the side of Dean’s face and causing the boy to grimace, reflexively tightening his hold on the bars to keep his hands from shaking. “Now, let’s all just try to relax, shall we?”_

_Dean grunted in frustration as Randy pressed the blade more sharply against his tender flesh, drawing blood and forcing Dean to tilt his neck further and further back until his head was resting against Randy’s shoulder, their bodies aligned in an awkward embrace._

_“Ya see, kiddo, even wild stallions can be broken if you know where to apply the right amount of pressure.”_

_Keeping the knife firmly pressed to Dean’s vulnerable throat, Randy slowly released his hold over the boy’s hands, smiling to himself when Dean’s grip stayed tightly glued to the bar without prompting._

_Pushing his advance, Randy trailed his fingertips up Dean’s left forearm, then slid his hand underneath Dean’s elbow to caress the smooth, taut skin of his stomach._

_Still, Dean barely twitched, but Randy relished the steady quickening of the boy’s labored breathing._

_Dean’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest, and he knew Randy could feel it since he was pressed so closely to him._

_He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain control of his rising panic._

_Randy’s hand continued its gentle mapping of Dean’s defined torso, then allowed his touch to venture lower, inch by inch, over the tight denim until he found his mark and the boy’s breath hitched._

_Screw the knife._

_Dean released the bar in favor of throwing an elbow back but he was barely able to nudge the man in the ribs when the chains drew his hands up short, nearly dislocating his right wrist in the effort._

_The violent movement did nothing more than amuse Randy further and leave Dean with a new, steadily dripping stream of blood down his throat and onto his chest._

_Pulling the knife out of the way, Randy shoved Dean forward the last few inches to effectively trap his torso against the headboard, Dean’s hands and forehead pressed firmly to the wall behind it with no room to struggle._

_“Careful, kiddo. Another reckless stunt like that, and your daddy will be collecting your lifeless body when he gets here.”_

_Randy eased back just enough to press his palm and the flat of the blade in between Dean’s tense shoulders, keeping him pinned while his other hand returned to the front of the boy’s jeans, sliding the zipper down without further preamble._

_Playtime was over._

_“Time to accept your fate, little buddy. No one’s gonna get here in time to save you.”_

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Sam’s anger flared again as blood began to trickle down the right side of his brother’s throat from a newly manifested cut. He didn’t need to be a skilled hunter to figure out that Randy was using a knife to subdue Dean. 

“Screw fate, and screw the cure,” he stated with a growl, tightening his hold on his brother’s broken finger once again, his other hand coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze in silent apology.

“Sam, don’t!” Cas shouted in warning, but it was already too late. 

Sam had realigned Dean’s bones with a resounding snap, resulting in an agonized cry as the older man was yanked unceremoniously back to the present. 

Wide, disoriented green eyes darted frantically around the room as Dean’s brain tried to catch up to his body.

When the source of the pain fully registered, Dean instinctively tried to lunge forward, away from the warm hand on his bare shoulder.

Sam immediately tightened his restraining grip and released Dean’s finger in favor of pressing his other hand firmly down over Dean’s protective sigil tattoo, keeping his brother pinned to the cot before he could hurt himself any further. 

“Easy, Dean,” he coached softly, leaning over the older man so he could see his face. “It’s okay. You’re back now.”

Dean felt the blade dig into his upper spine and leave a two-inch slice, forcing him to arch up off the cot with a hiss.

“No, S’m…” he grunted through a clenched jaw. “No, ’m not. I can still… Ah!”

The very tip of the knife pierced the skin of his lower right side as Randy adjusted his grip, practically digging the metal into Dean’s kidney and preventing the adult version of him from settling back down onto the thin mattress while a warm hand ghosted over the front of his jeans.

If his hips rocked the slightest bit, he’d impale himself on the phantom blade.

“…c-c’n still feel it, S’mmy,” he stuttered out.

Sam’s eyes widened in horror. He thought bringing Dean out of it would be enough. He thought he could stop it.

He was wrong.

Dean pulled desperately against his restraints. _Please, not like this… Not with my brother watching…_

Sam was on the verge of panic, his brain switching to default mode. “What do I do, Dean? How can I help you?”

When in doubt, Dean always had the answers. Sam felt all of eight years old again, and he knew it wasn’t fair, but he needed his big brother to take charge and give him some instruction.

“Just go, Sam,” Dean managed to croak out before another shallow slice just to the left of his navel stole his breath away. That pain was followed by a bruising grip on his left ankle and Dean knew exactly what was happening.

Randy was preparing to pull him back down to the mattress for easier access.

Not bothering to set aside his knife, the man had wrapped his right arm around Dean’s midsection and used his left hand’s hold on Dean’s ankle to jerk the boy’s knees out from under him.

Gravity had taken care of the rest, and as the boy desperately grabbed hold of the pole once again for balance, he had no way of preventing his lithe, eighty-two pound body from landing directly on the blade.

If memory served, Randy had somehow managed to miss all the major organs, but Dean would never forget the brief moment of shock, followed by the agonizing burn of sharp metal entering his body. 

Nor would he ever forget the sickening squelching sound his flesh made when Randy ripped the blade back out of him, or the soft thud it made when the man carelessly tossed it onto the sheets by Dean’s hip.

In retrospect, Dean wasn’t sure Randy even realized what had happened at first. The man was so consumed by his thirst for revenge that Dean doubted he bothered to look at the bloodied knife after he had pulled it free from under the boy’s weight.

At that point, young Dean had been so focused on trying to get his paralyzed lungs to inhale again that he didn’t even register the man wrestling the jeans off his legs.

_Any moment now…_

“Please, Sammy. Just leave,” Dean practically whimpered, falling back down to the bloody mattress as soon as the sting of the blade moved from behind him to in front of him. 

Sam took hold of his brother’s good hand, trying to ground him in the present as much as possible. “I’m not going anywhere, Dean. I won’t let you go through this alone again.”

Dean frantically shook his head, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want you to-”

His words died in his throat as the four-inch long gash Dean had been anticipating opened up between his left hip and ribs. His hand reflexively clenched around Sam’s as the shock set in and all the blood left his face. 

Soon after, the tension fled from his body. It was too much. The fear, the anxiety, the steadily rising fever, the endless loop of pain, the blood loss, the shame and denial…

He just wanted it to end.

Dean’s eyes started to roll up into his head but Sam used his free hand to slap at his brother’s cheek.

“Dean! Dean, stay with me, man…”

He was terrified that if his brother lost consciousness, he’d wind up fully immersed in the past again. Or worse, he’d never wake up at all.

Blood was pooling across Dean’s abdomen, spilling down his left side and soaking into the waistband of his jeans. Sam had to get the bleeding under control or his brother’s fight would culminate here and now.

“Cas, keep him awake!” the younger man barked, reluctantly pulling his hand free and diving for the med kit.

The angel immediately took up Sam’s abandoned post, squeezing Dean’s hand in an unpredictable rhythm to regain the man’s drifting attention. 

Then he gently turned Dean’s face towards himself. 

“Eyes open, Dean,” he demanded, and true to form, the older Winchester forced himself to obey the direct order.

Dazed green eyes locked onto inhumanly blue ones.

“That’s it…” Cas encouraged. “Stay with us, Dean.”

Sam piled layer after layer of gauze over his brother’s wound and pressed down hard, desperately trying to get the bleeding under control so he could see the extent of the damage.

There was so much blood…

Apparently most of it _had_ been Dean’s after all. But Sam knew his brother was nothing if not a fighter.

“Hang on, Dean,” he begged, unaware if he actually stated the words out loud or just kept repeating them in his head. “Just hang on.”

Carefully peeling back a section of the gauze, Sam gagged at how deep Dean’s wound actually went. 

An injury this bad could mean internal bleeding as well, but without proper equipment, there was only one way Sam would be able to tell if any of Dean’s organs had been nicked.

He’d have to go in.

_Shit shit shit shit shit…_

Before he could talk himself out of it, Sam grabbed a pair of latex gloves and pulled them onto his shaking hands. Then he liberally disinfected them, as well as Dean’s entire lower torso, which startled his brother back to semi-awareness.

“S-S’m?” he gasped out, trying to make sense of what was happening. He lifted his head high enough to see Sam preparing for surgery.

“It’s okay, Dean. I’ve got you. Just… Just try to stay still, alright? Cas, I need you to hold him down.”

With a reluctant nod, Cas used his angelic grace to keep his friend from moving and simultaneously tightened his grip on Dean’s hand.

“N-no…” Dean whispered breathlessly, catching on to his brother’s intentions. “S’mmy, w-wait…” 

He was getting more and more agitated by the minute at his own lack of articulation. 

_Damn it, spit it out already!_

“Look away, Dean. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

_Don’t do it, Sammy, don’t do it, please…_

Sam had barely pushed two of his fingers into the wound up to the first knuckle when the agonizing pain forced the rest of the fog out of Dean’s head.

“Gah! Sam, st-stop!” he screamed and Sam jerked his hand back out in fear, swallowing convulsively to keep the bile from creeping up the back of his throat again. 

Thankfully, his stomach was already empty.

“Dean, I know it hurts but I need to see how much dama-”

“D-Dad did!” Dean finally forced out. “Dad ch-checked. N-no damage.”

Sam paused, almost afraid to believe it. “Are you sure, Dean? Hey! Come on, dude. Stay focused. I need you to be absolutely sure here.”

His brother nodded weakly. “’m sure. ‘m sure.”

_Oh, thank god._

Sam allowed himself a moment to regroup, a wave of dizziness washing over him along with the relief. He closed his eyes and squeezed Dean’s knee to help stabilize them both, then let out a slow, shaky breath.

“S'mmy?” Dean hedged. _Tell me you understand, man. Tell me you believe me._

“Okay. It's okay, Dean. I hear you.”

Dean dropped his head back to the mattress with a heavy thunk, each limb suddenly feeling like it weighed three tons, even after Cas released his angelic hold on him.

“I still have to stitch it up though,” Sam warned apologetically. “You’re losing too much blood.”

Dean managed a weary nod. Stitches he could handle.

“Make it fast,” he huffed, blinking tiredly up at the ceiling. “Randy’s gettin’…” 

Dean cut himself off before he said something he’d regret. 

“We uh…” he licked at his dry lips, trying to get his tightening throat to cooperate. “We don’t have much time.”

TBC


	15. Adrenaline Pumping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Mentions of non-con in this chapter, so please tread carefully!**

Heeding Dean’s warning of the time restrictions, Sam immediately set to work sewing his brother’s side back together. 

The stitches were hasty and haphazard at best, but he was only trying to keep his brother from bleeding out long enough for the mark to magically repair the damage again.

Dean had already lost enough blood during the first trial, and Sam had no idea how many more rounds he would have to face before all was said and done.

Whenever the older man started going lax beneath his hands, Sam would intentionally dig too deeply or pull too tightly, keeping Dean grounded with the unexpected pain and murmuring heart-felt apologies after each occasion.

While Sam tended to Dean’s wound, Cas did what he could to help bring down his fever. He used a cold cloth to dab at Dean’s sweaty face and neck, but his efforts weren’t quite enough to give his impromptu patient any relief.

Dean’s entire body was on fire as his fever raged out of control. He tried shifting to a cooler spot on the mattress but even that small effort left him breathless and did absolutely nothing to ease the burning under his skin.

He moaned pitifully, drawing Sam’s attention to his face.

“How’re you doing, Dean?” the younger man checked for what felt like the fiftieth time in the past seven minutes as he tied off another hasty stitch in his brother’s side.

Dean responded with a tight-lipped grunt, desperately trying to stay focused on the sharp pinch of the needle and the nauseating tug of the thread because if he let his mind slip even the slightest bit, he knew Randy would be there waiting for him. 

He was fighting with everything he had to stay in the present with his brother but the effort was draining him of what limited energy he had left.

“I’m almost done, dude. Just hang in there a little longer, okay?” Sam tied off another hasty stitch and moved onto the next. “Only a few more to go.”

_“Only a few more to go, son. Stay with me, alright?”_

“D-dad…?” Dean breathed out, struggling to keep his eyes open. He was so tired…

Sam froze mid-stitch as his brother’s soft utterance reached his ears. “Dean? You still with me, man?”

_“Eyes on me, Dean, or I’m takin’ you to the hospital.”_

Dean wearily rolled his head from side to side on the cot in protest. “No. Please, Dad… No hospit’l. Please. S’mmy can’t know…”

Sam locked his jaw and closed his eyes against his brother’s desperate plea, barely clinging to the dregs of his resilience.

Cas brushed his knuckles against Dean’s flushed cheek. “He’s slipping, Sam. His fever is too high.”

“Then ice him down again, Cas!” Sam bit out in frustration, trying his best to keep his bloodied hands from shaking as he opened his eyes and tried to focus on tying off another stitch. “We can’t let him pass out.”

_Just two more stitches to go. I can do this…_

Cas shook his head, looking painfully sympathetic. “Sam, the harder he fights, the higher his fever will rise. Keeping him awake is killing him. We need to…”

“No, damn it!” Sam slammed his fist down onto the cot, effectively cutting the angel off while simultaneously startling Dean, his glossy eyes drifting over to lock with Sam’s.

“S’m?” he muttered, the concern in his tone evident. “’s goin’ on?”

Sam swallowed down his anger for his brother’s sake. “Nothing, Dean. Everything’s fine. I just need you to stay awake a little longer, okay?”

“…’m tryin’.”

“I know. You’re doing great. Randy’s not gonna win this round, you hear me?” 

Dean gave a weak nod, trusting his brother implicitly to do right by him as his eyes slowly drifted shut against his will.

“Cas, where’s that ice?” Sam demanded, hoping the shock of the cold would be enough to keep Dean in the here and now without having to resort to more desperate measures.

Reluctantly, Cas moved away from his charge to make some fresh ice packs, his grave eyes constantly flicking back to Dean at every groan, gasp, and grunt that passed his lips.

Less than a minute later, Sam tied off the last stitch and let out a breath of relief. “Okay, Dean. I’m done. Just gotta…”

He glanced up at the older man just in time to see his brother’s head loll to the side.

“Dean?”

There was no response.

Sam quickly peeled off his bloodied gloves and moved further up the cot, cupping his brother’s cheeks and angling his head towards himself. 

“Hey, come on, man… Open your eyes.”

Dean’s eyes rolled restlessly beneath their lids but remained stubbornly shut. 

Sam switched tactics and rubbed his knuckles vigorously up and down his brother’s sternum hard enough to bruise, hoping the painful stimulus would be enough to bring him back around.

Instead, Dean’s entire body tensed and his brow furrowed as he began muttering words under his breath. Words like “no,” and “please, don’t.”

Sam shook his brother harshly by the shoulders and practically yelled in his face. “Dean!”

A soft whimper left Dean’s mouth and his back arched slightly off the table in pain. 

If Sam had to hazard a guess, he’d say Randy was currently prepping his brother for the main event. They were out of time.

Sam cursed under his breath as he fumbled through the med kit, looking for anything that could help. He came up with an EpiPen, hoping against hope that a shot of adrenaline might be enough to do the trick.

“Hang on, big brother. I’m coming.”

Cas grabbed Sam’s elbow as he turned back to Dean, armed with the needle. “Sam, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he cautioned.

“Shut up, Cas,” Sam spat back, yanking his arm out of the angel’s grasp and pulling the safety cap off the small tube. “You had your chance to save him back then and you failed.”

As soon as he returned to Dean’s side, Sam jabbed the spring-loaded injector against his brother’s outer thigh and pressed the button down. The needle easily pierced through the blue denim of his jeans and straight into the corded muscle beneath. 

He held the injector steady as the medicine made its way into Dean’s system, every second lasting an eternity. 

“Come on, come on, come on…”

It took almost a full minute before Dean’s eyes shot back open and he gasped in a lungful of air.

His skin was burning, his lungs were burning… Even the blood in his veins was burning.

It felt like he was back in Hell, and yet, he had never felt more alive.

There was a darkness bubbling up inside him, threatening to spill over. It was a feral hunger that could only be quenched with blood. Preferably, Randy’s blood.

He longed to wrap his fingers around the First Blade and show that poor excuse for a man how much damage a real knife could do; how much pain it could inflict when used properly.

Everything he had been through that fateful night- all the fear, torture, and humiliation he had endured and eventually locked away in the deep recesses of his mind- came back to him in startling clarity.

He had begged Randy to let him go. Begged him to make the pain stop. 

It only seemed fair to return the favor.

Dean had learned many creative techniques for breaking a human being’s body, mind, and spirit during his time in Hell. It would be a shame to let all that knowledge go to waste.

Forty-three minutes. That was how long it had taken for John to finally arrive at Randy’s place. 

Forty-three minutes that Dean had cowered against the far wall, shaking and covered in blood, staring into Randy’s cold, dead eyes with the murder weapon clenched tightly in his hand.

Which meant that this time around, he’d have forty-three minutes to make Randy regret he had ever heard of Mary or the Winchesters before John would storm in to ruin his fun. 

He could take his time instead of going straight for the kill; create a bloodied masterpiece worthy of Alistair’s praise.

The thought alone was enough to bring a sadistic smile to Dean’s dry lips. For the first time in a long time, he felt calm. He felt in control.

“...Dean?” a deep voice prompted from his left, breaking the man out of his musings. 

Dean’s eyes shifted over to the angel’s wary gaze with a predatory glint.

“Castiel,” he acknowledged, then jostled the restraints above his head. “Need you to do me a favor and take these things off.”

Cas’s frown deepened. “I can’t do that.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Dean growled back, his eyes darkening to the point at which the angel actually took a step back in fear. 

“Dean, this isn’t you. It’s the mark talking. You need to fight it.”

“Fine,” Dean growled back, ignoring the angel’s words. “I’ll just get them off myself.”

He began twisting and pulling his wrists against the cuffs, completely unaffected by the pain and the fresh blood that began to flow down his hands, slicking up his fingers.

“Dean, stop…” Cas tried, his eyes widening as the man’s hands began to slip free of their bindings. He rushed forward again to try and keep Dean still, but the afflicted Winchester did not make it easy.

He had given over to his animalistic instincts, gnashing his teeth and writhing uncontrollably to break free of Cas’s hold. 

Dean could smell blood in the air. He could practically taste it. And his hand itched to wrap itself around the familiar hilt of the Blade.

“After I finish with Randy, I’m comin’ for _you_ , Angel Wings,” he threatened next to Cas’ ear.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, standing on the other side of his brother.

Dean whipped his head around just in time to see a deluge of ice water cascading down on him.

His body immediately went into shock. Every muscle locked up, the air froze in his lungs, and his brain short-circuited.

Time itself seemed to stop while his system rebooted, then he immediately went into a coughing fit, sputtering out the fluid that had infiltrated his throat and lungs. 

Each respiratory convulsion jarred his aching muscles, which quickly reminded him of his sutured side.

The tranquility was gone, and so it seemed was the inner darkness. The pain, however, seemed to have doubled.

The older Winchester tried to curl in on himself to ease his body’s torment, but having his arms cuffed above his head prevented any such relief.

Someone was talking to him, but he couldn’t understand the words; couldn’t recognize the voice or acknowledge the soothing tone.

The adrenaline was still racing through his body, and his head was pounding almost as harshly as his heart. 

His vision began to blur, leaving him nauseatingly dizzy, and his skin couldn’t seem to decide if the room were hot or cold.

He just wanted it all to stop.

Then there were strong hands on him, holding him down, forcing him to lie flat on the mattress, and Dean panicked.

_No no no no no!_

He couldn’t protect himself like this. Couldn’t fight back.

Desperately, he lashed out with his legs, which only resulted in another bolt of pain lancing through his agonized torso, forcing a sound from his lips that resembled the cry of a wounded animal.

“Dean!” Sam yelled for the third time, trying to get through to his terrified brother, but it was clear Dean wasn’t capable of listening. The blood was probably pounding too loudly in his ears, keeping him trapped in his own personal Hell.

Switching to a different tactic, Sam turned Dean’s face towards himself and cupped the back of his neck, giving it a comforting squeeze until his brother’s blown pupils finally locked onto his own.

Sam continued to speak soft, encouraging words until Dean finally stilled, blinking up at him with tear-stained eyes.

Dean was shaking hard beneath his hand, gulping air and swallowing convulsively. But at least he seemed to recognize his brother.

“Dean?” Sam tried once more. “You with me, buddy?” 

This time, the voice registered. 

Dean knew that voice. It was the sound of safety. The sound of home. 

“S-Sam?” he stuttered out between painful spasms, desperately trying to make sense of his current predicament.

“Yeah, dude. It’s just me. Take it easy, big brother.”

Dean felt movement against his abdomen and thighs and his heart jumped into his throat. 

He quickly lifted his head high enough to see Cas practically laying on top of him, doing his best to keep his friend from injuring himself any further. 

“Cas?” he rasped out in confusion.

“Sorry, Dean,” the angel responded, sounding abashed. “You gave us no choice.”

Cas slowly sat up once he knew Dean wasn’t going to continue struggling, but refused to meet his eyes, alerting Dean to the fact that something really bad must have gone down during his brief mental hiatus.

“Why? Wh-what happened?”

Sam hesitated before responding. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.” 

Dean searched his mind for any clues and immediately regretted that decision.

He caught a brief flash of himself gleefully peeling the flesh off of Randy’s body as the man’s blood-curdling screams filled the air.

He swallowed hard against the bile rising up the back of his throat.

“It was the m-mark again, w-wasn’t it?” he muttered wearily, dropping his head back to the mattress when his trembling muscles could no longer support it. “The cure isn’t w-working, Sam. Rowena lied to us. Again.”

A painful shiver raced up Dean’s spine and he winced as the frigid water continued to drip from his skin and soak into the thin sheet beneath his back. 

Damn, he was cold. His lips were trembling and he wouldn’t be surprised if they were turning blue.

“We don’t know that, Dean,” Sam replied, patting his brother’s chest gently before pulling away to brush off the ice cubes that were melting on Dean’s over-heated body. “Maybe like a bad virus, the curse has to get worse before it can get better, and the mark’s reappearance is just a symptom.”

Dean groaned, choosing to ignore the fact that his baby brother had started towel-drying him like a child. “Th-think I’d rather have the B-Bubonic Plague.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut as his abused body quaked again.

Sam let out a huff of laughter, focusing on warming Dean back up after his brutal wake-up call. “Can’t say I blame you, man.”

“Sam,” Cas called quietly, drawing the younger man’s attention.

When Sam turned to look at him, Cas redirected his gaze to Dean’s left side where the recently white bandage was now soaked in dark red, indicating that Dean had most likely torn some, if not all, of his stitches in the struggle. 

“Damn it,” Sam mumbled under his breath.

Dean cracked his eyes back open and quirked a tired eyebrow at his brother, but when Sam neglected to elaborate, he tried to sit up to see what all the fuss was about.

Boy, was _that_ a mistake.

Pain flared through his left side, stealing the breath from his lungs and causing his body to convulse. Black spots were flashing in front of his vision.

Sam gripped his shoulder and easily forced him back down again. With his free hand, he tossed a fresh gauze bandage at the angel and pointed to the old, soiled one. 

“Cas, put some pressure on that.”

Cas shot a worried look at the deathly pale older Winchester, then tightened his jaw and leaned on the wound as much as he dared, wincing in sympathy as Dean cried out in pain. 

“Ah! S-S’m…” the injured brother gasped out between clenched teeth, involuntarily jerking against his restraints in an attempt to escape the sharp burning sensation flooding through his torso.

“I know, I know. Just breathe through it, Dean,” Sam coached, rubbing his thumb soothingly up and down Dean’s shoulder as he held him still.

Dean could feel the darkness creeping up the back of his skull, lurking in the shadows of his mind and waiting for him to let it back in.

He knew he didn’t have the strength to keep fighting much longer. He had reached his limits. There was only one thing left to do.

“C-Cas…” Dean whimpered past a violent spasm.

The angel looked over at him, sorrow and regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dean. The bleeding should slow soon.”

“N-no,” Dean forced out, getting increasingly agitated with his own weakness. “Cas, you gotta listen to me…”

Dean broke off with a hiss as Cas re-situated his hands to cover more area.

“Relax, Dean,” Sam instructed, taking up the angel’s previous duty and using his free hand to dab the wet towel against his brother’s sweaty forehead. “You can talk later.”

But Dean jerked away so he could keep the angel in his sights.

“The mark, Cas… It’s g-gettin’ stronger. I need you to help me. Please.”

Cas’ brow drew even tighter. “What would you have me do?”

“You _know_ what," Dean grunted back. “Get the B-Blade. You gotta end this. N-now. Before it’s too late.”

“No,” Sam growled, his gaze dancing from Dean to the angel, then back to his brother again. “Don’t you _dare_ give up on me, Dean. We can win this. You just have to hang on a little bit longer.”

Dean shook his head, tears of frustration and exhaustion prickling the corners of his eyes as he looked up at his brother. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I tried.”

Sam tossed the towel back into the empty ice bucket, then cupped the side of Dean’s face. 

“I know you’re scared, man, but the Blade isn’t the answer. I can figure out how to keep you awake, I swear. I just need a bit more time.” 

“’s not your fault, Sam. ‘s _my_ decision. You can’t keep me awake forever, and I…” Dean broke off as the tears began to fall. “Sammy, I c-can’t go through this again.”

Sam’s heart shattered at Dean’s admission and he wasn’t surprised to find moisture on his own face as well.

The tremors were getting worse as Dean’s fever began it’s upward climb once more, and the sharp pains in his head were starting up again as the cure threatened to drag him back to the past, kicking and screaming. 

He knew he didn’t have much time left.

“P-please. You gotta end this while the mark is still weak, Sammy. If I… Ah!”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and swallowed hard before trying again. 

“If I go under one more time, I’m gonna kill Randy. There’s n-no way around it. The bloodlust is gonna take over from there, and it’ll b-be too late to do what needs to be done.”

Sam was already shaking his head in denial, and Dean’s heart sank. 

“Dean, you can’t ask me to do this. Please. I can’t. There has to be another way.”

Dean could feel hands on his hips and knew without having to look that they didn’t belong to Cas. Randy had found him again, and Dean knew there would be no escaping him this time.

The fight was over.

Dean nodded resignedly and blinked back his tears, unwilling to let his brother suffer that level of guilt. He forced a small smile onto his face and met Sam’s red eyes. “It’s okay, Sammy. I get it.”

Distantly, he could hear the man’s moans of pleasure as Randy got himself ready and it turned Dean’s stomach. The pain in his head was becoming intolerable, beckoning him to give in to the darkness. To give in to Randy.

But he couldn’t let his brother stand there and watch it all happen.

“Cas, do me a favor and get Sam out of…”

And then Dean was consumed by agony.

He bucked violently off the table, a scream being torn from his throat seconds before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he began convulsing.

Sam’s eyes grew wide with panic as his brother’s body flailed and contorted out of control. 

Dean’s mouth filled with frothy blood, no doubt from biting his tongue, and he started choking on the viscous fluid. 

“Dean!”

Without any hesitation, Sam released his brother’s restraints and climbed up onto the cot, turning Dean onto his side and stabilizing him as much as possible while he waited for the seizure to stop.

It took nearly two minutes for Dean to finally still. 

Blood was pooling on the cot, from Dean’s mouth, from his reopened knife wound… And from the seat of his pants. 

Sam was at wit’s end. He cradled Dean in his arms, gently rocking him back and forth.

“Hang on, Dean… I’ve gotcha. Cas, get me another EpiPen! Hurry!”

He registered the angel moving out of the corner of his eye and took the time to check his brother’s pulse, relieved to find one, although it was weak and erratic. 

He made sure his brother was still breathing before wiping the blood from his lips and chin.

When Cas reached his side, Sam held out his hand expectantly, but the angel did not pass anything over.

Confused by the delay, Sam glanced over his shoulder anxiously. “Cas? Where is…?”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” the angel responded somberly. “But it’s for your own good, and Dean’s.”

He touched two fingertips to the younger man’s forehead and caught him as he crumbled forward, carefully easing him out from under Dean’s weight and depositing him into the nearest chair.

“Rest now,” Cas muttered with a sigh, then resolutely turned back to Dean. “I will watch over your brother.”

He returned to the head of the cot and took Dean’s limp hand into his own.

“I swear on my life, Dean Winchester, I will not fail you again.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Dean finally confronts Randy! Please review if you’re still enjoying this story!


	16. A Prayer of Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: PLEASE BE ADVISED! This chapter is the darkest one yet and deals with some potential trigger issues including non-con between an adult and a minor as well as a violent murder scene so please proceed with caution! Thank you!**

_Even at age twelve, Dean was no stranger to pain. His small body was already littered with jagged scars, which Randy found to be quite fascinating if his roaming hands were anything to go by._

_But this… This all-encompassing agony was intolerable._

_Dean wanted to scream, but he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to fight but his muscles had locked up. He wanted to pass out, but the pain wouldn’t let him._

_All he could manage was a strangled cry as his whole body seized, instinctively trying to stop the intrusion._

_“Easy, kid,” Randy panted in his ear, his fingers wrapping tightly around Dean’s small hips, keeping him still while they both adjusted. “I told you to relax. The harder you fight, the more it’s gonna hurt.”_

_Dean’s hands clenched around fistfuls of rough sheets as tears welled up in his eyes again, blurring his vision._

_Why was this happening to him? What had he done that was so bad to deserve this? How had he gone from hunter to victim in just a blink of an eye? Why wasn’t anyone here to help stop it?_

_Desperate for any form of intervention, Dean began to pray for the first time in his life._

_He silently begged, pleaded, screamed, and threatened but there was no divine intervention. No lightning bolt or sudden heart attack for Randy, no blissful unconsciousness for Dean, and no John knocking down the door in the eleventh hour._

_Dean was completely on his own and there was nothing he could do to save himself. The realization was crippling, and he was just as powerless to stop his shameful tears from falling._

_Randy gave him a few seconds to try and acclimate to the pain, then he began to move._

_Dean buried his face in the pillow to muffle his whimpers as he focused on trying to get his muscles to loosen before any more damage was done._

_Doing so felt horribly like submission, weakness, failure… All words that were unacceptable in the Winchester family, but he just couldn’t take the pain anymore._

_His father would be so disappointed._

_“That’s it…” Randy praised as soon as the boy stopped struggling._

_He slowly began to pick up speed, rubbing Dean’s back encouragingly with one hand while the other continued to guide the boy’s hips._

_Dean focused his efforts on containing his sounds, refusing to add fuel to Randy’s fire. But he wasn’t even allowed to have_ that _small dignity._

_Randy’s hand slid further up his back until his fingers curled tightly in Dean’s short hair, yanking his head up off of the pillow and eliciting an audible grunt of discomfort from the boy's strained throat._

_“Don’t go gettin’ shy on me now, kid. I wanna hear those sweet little sounds of yours.”_

_The man tossed the pillow to the floor, then unfastened the belt buckle at the back of Dean’s head, thrusting harder to merit another yelp of pain so he could slide the leather free of the boy’s clenched teeth._

_Dean couldn’t hold back the next whimper and it brought a smug smile to Randy’s lips as the sound seemed to echo off the walls of the small room._

_“_ That’s _more like it!” he crowed encouragingly. “Come on, Deano. I wanna hear you sing for me.”_

_He slid his right hand around to Dean’s front and reached between his legs, eliciting a choked off gasp from the boy who immediately tensed again as he tried to pull away._

_“No, please… D-don’t!” he rasped out in desperation, tearing his wrists up even more as he violently yanked against the cuffs._

_It was bad enough he had to endure this torture, but he’d never be able to live with himself if he were forced to enjoy it as well._

_“Damn, kiddo,” Randy hissed in delight as Dean unintentionally tightened back up around him, then he chuckled. “I think you missed your calling. If hunting doesn’t work out for you…”_

_The man trailed off into a moan, his hand and hips finding a steady rhythm with Dean trapped in between._

_“Beg me again, Dean. Come on. Convince me to stop.”_

_The older Winchester squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the conflicting pain/pleasure responses flaring through his system._

_“…P-please…”_

_He didn’t want this. He_ didn’t _. And yet, his body was beginning to respond._

_It was at that very moment when Dean decided that there was no God; no higher power looking out for him or his family._

_Just random, unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere and rips you to shreds._

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Cas hovered in front of Dean, cradling the man’s limp hand between his own as he watched the older Winchester’s face for a moment.

Dean’s skin was so pale, he appeared exsanguinated, though there was a faint ruddy blush high up on his cheeks from the blisteringly high fever.

His brow was furrowed in obvious pain that couldn’t be escaped even in unconsciousness, and his breathing was shallow and labored. 

Half dried tear tracks lined his gaunt face and strings of bloody saliva continued to drip from the corner of his mouth as he lay curled up on his side where Sam had left him. 

Dean was a mess, and yet, there was an undeniable beauty in the man- in his strength and love- that somehow always managed to triumph over all else.

The angel brushed his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand soothingly before releasing it, then retrieved a clean cloth from the pile of medical supplies and reverently wiped the red stains from Dean’s cheek and lips.

Once he was sure the bleeding had slowed enough that Dean wouldn’t asphyxiate, he tossed the stained cloth aside, and eased the older Winchester onto his back again so he would be more comfortable. 

Cas sat back down next to him and gently squeezed his friend’s shoulder.

“Don’t give up yet, Dean. This world still needs you. We all do. Help is coming. Just hold on a bit longer.”

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

_Randy took his time with Dean, no doubt hoping John Winchester would walk through the door at any moment and witness his son’s destruction._

_But eventually, the man’s rhythm began to falter._

_Dean was so physically and emotionally drained by that point, he barely noticed any change until Randy’s full weight landed heavily on top of him, a satisfied groan ruffling Dean’s sweat-soaked hair._

_“I’ve gotta hand it to you, kid,” the man mumbled after a while, his head resting against the boy’s shoulder blade. “That was the best lay I’ve had in years. Guess you got_ that _from your mama too.”_

_Even through the exhaustion and pain, Dean’s anger was bubbling up in his gut again, threatening to consume him._

_“Shut up,” he growled, his words muffled slightly between the mattress and his extended arms._

_“What was that?” Randy asked, shifting his weight off of Dean a bit to allow him to breathe properly._

_Dean raised his head high enough to stare blood-red daggers at the man, his fear decimated by the pain, only to be replaced by a deep hatred._

_“I_ said _shut up about my mother,” he repeated coldly. “You don’t get to talk about her.”_

_Randy had the audacity to chuckle at him._

_“What’s the matter, champ? Jealous you weren’t my first? Hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re not gonna be my last either. In fact, I can’t wait to see that little, moppy-haired brother of yours again…”_

_Something inside Dean snapped at those words, his exhaustion instantly forgotten._

_He felt a feather-light brush against his chafed wrists, and then before he realized what was happening, his bindings broke free of the headboard and he twisted around, burying Randy’s own blade straight into the man’s gut._

_Randy blinked down at Dean’s cuffed hands in disbelief. He had completely forgotten about the knife that he had left on the bed._

_But there was no way the boy could’ve still had enough strength to break the metal bar to which he had been cuffed just moments ago._

_And yet, somehow his wide eyes met Dean’s feral ones and hot blood was trickling down the knife’s hilt, coating the kid’s steady hands._

_Randy slid sideways off the bed and stumbled away a few steps before collapsing to his knees._

_Dean slowly sat up, ignoring the pain lancing through his body. He eased his legs over the side of the bed and carefully stood to his full height, towering over the kneeling man in front of him._

_Randy’s hooded gaze caught the glint of light off the blood-stained knife still tightly clutched in the boy’s right hand._

_Keeping one hand pressed against his stab wound, the man raised the other in mock surrender. Then he smiled._

_“I’m impressed, kid. You’re stronger than I gave you credit for. Looks like I got you pretty good too, though.” He jutted his chin towards Dean’s sluggishly bleeding side. “Guess that makes us even.”_

_“Not even close,” Dean ground out between clenched teeth, tightening his grip on the knife to keep it from slipping through his blood and sweat-slicked fingers._

_Randy nodded slowly._

_“I get it. Now you’re lookin’ for a little revenge of your own, am I right? Only seems fair after all. So what’s your next move, tough guy? Gonna use that little pig sticker and finish what your daddy started?”_

_Dean’s fury abated a little at the thought of purposefully taking the man’s life. He wasn’t a killer. He was just a kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, faced with an impossible situation._

_His eyes darted between Randy and the door, weighing his options. He could make a run for it if he wanted to, though he didn’t think he’d get very far before passing out from the pain and blood loss._

_On the other hand, it didn’t look like Randy was in any shape to make chase. Dean was relatively sure he could escape if he tried, leaving the man to the cops or to the fate of his stab wound._

_Randy could see the indecision warring in the boy’s eyes and he actually had the gall to laugh. “You still can’t do it, can you? Even after everything I’ve done.”_

_“We don’t kill humans,” Dean responded quietly, though it was clear from his inflection that he didn’t think Randy quite fit the definition._

_Randy snorted, then winced, pressing harder against his throbbing side. “That’s just a sad excuse for weakness. But you know all about that, don’t ya, kid?”_

_His eyes drifted up and down Dean’s lithe body, reminding the boy that he was still embarrassingly naked and bringing a flush to his face._

_Keeping his gaze locked on the man, Dean fumbled around blindly on the floor next to him until he found his jeans._

_Randy watched with amusement as Dean struggled to pull his pants back on one-handed, biting his lower lip bloody to keep from shouting in pain as he aggravated his injuries._

_“Want some help with that?” the man offered cheekily, shifted forward a bit._

_Dean brandished the knife again in the man’s direction. “Stay the hell away from me,” he growled ferally._

_Once the man sank back down onto his haunches, Dean lowered the knife again and used both hands to pull his zipper up. He attempted to fasten the button too, but thanks to his broken finger, he eventually had to give it up as a lost cause._

_“Where are the keys?” Dean demanded, shaking his cuffed wrists at Randy to get his point across._

_Randy’s gaze turned seductive as he leered at the boy. “Front right pocket of my jeans. Or was it the left? You’re welcome to come over here and search for them if you’d like.”_

_He shifted his hips suggestively, his unfastened and low-riding jeans doing nothing to hide the man’s rekindled interest._

_Nausea instantly flooded Dean’s stomach at the thought._

_Randy hadn’t bothered to remove any of his clothes before attacking him, and there was no way Dean was going to get that close to the man’s genitals on purpose ever again._

_Instead, he made his way over to the bedside table and picked up the landline to call the police. If anything, that just seemed to amuse Randy even more._

_The man shook his head with a chuckle._

_“Come on, Deano. You know jail cells can’t hold hunters like us for long. I’ll be out in a day. Two, tops. You really wanna spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder?”_

_The line was already ringing in Dean’s ear, but it wasn’t loud enough to block out the doubts that were now screaming in his head._

_**“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”** _

_Dean opened his mouth to respond but no words came out._

_Randy’s cold eyes were locked onto his and Dean could feel his throat constricting, his heartbeat hammering loudly in his ears._

_“Go ahead, kid. Tell her what happened here,” Randy goaded as the silence dragged on. “Tell her all the juicy details…”_

_**“Hello? Is anyone there?”** _

_“I…” Dean started, wavering on how much he should say._

_“You can’t keep your eyes on Sammy 24/7, tough guy. How_ is _the little tyke these days anyway? I bet when it comes down to it, he’ll be just as submissive as his big brother.”_

_Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Dean slowly hung up the phone, his grip on the knife tightening until his knuckles turned white._

_“Atta boy,” Randy commended. With a pained groan, the man pushed himself back up onto his feet to square off with Dean. “Now, let’s finish this like men.”_

_Randy circled to the left and Dean mirrored his pace to maintain their distance, his fight training automatically kicking in._

_If Randy stepped forward, Dean retreated a step, constantly aware of his surroundings so he wouldn’t risk being backed into a corner._

_When he got tired of their little dance, Randy initiated the first attack, lashing out and throwing a punch at Dean’s head._

_The boy ducked out of the way, then hissed in pain as the motion tore the slice in his side further open, sending a fresh wave of blood trickling down his hip._

_Dean pressed his left hand against the wound as hard as he could, ignoring the tacky fluid as it oozed out from between his fingers._

_He tightened his jaw against the rising nausea and assumed a combat stance that his father had taught him specifically for knife fighting._

_Attempting to exploit Dean’s injury, Randy aimed his next punch at the boy’s stomach, but Dean deflected the fist and countered with his own elbow jab to the man’s abs, following it up with slamming the knife hilt into Randy’s jaw._

_He continued to roll with the motion, only stumbling for a quick second, until he was a safe distance away where he could regroup and prepare for the next attack._

_Randy took a second to regain his breath, nodding in appreciation for his surprisingly worthy opponent. He knew John was ex-Military on top of being a hunter, but he had underestimated Dean, only seeing him as a child instead of the soldier he had become._

_Regardless of the boy’s training, the man still had the advantage of size and strength. His reach was longer, his grip was tighter, and stab wounds aside, Dean’s injuries were much more extensive than his own._

_He could already tell the boy wouldn’t be able to keep the fight going for much longer. He was deathly pale, losing a fair amount of blood, and- judging by his clumsy side step a moment ago- on the verge of passing out._

_The only thing keeping him on his feet was adrenaline, and even that came in a limited supply. So the man attacked again, striking at Dean’s left knee to knock him off balance._

_As Dean lifted his knee to absorb the blow, Randy threw himself forward, tackling the boy to the ground._

_Dean landed hard, his ribs screaming in protest as the man’s body weight landed on top of him and his ears were ringing as his head connected with the unforgiving hardwood floor._

_Randy took advantage of the boy’s disorientation and latched onto his knife hand, pinning it above Dean’s head to minimize the threat._

_Thanks to the cuffs around his wrists, Dean’s other hand had to follow, coming to a rest up near the boy’s right shoulder._

_Randy yanked that hand to the other side of Dean’s chest, effectively strangling the kid with the chain as it pulled taut across his windpipe._

_Dean panicked for a moment, flailing ineffectively as he fought for air, but then Randy’s grip on his knife hand shifted enough for Dean to rotate his wrist and slash the back of the man’s hand open._

_Randy jerked his hand back with a shout and Dean sat up fast, using whatever strength was left in his legs to reverse their positions, the knife coming to a threatening halt just over the man’s heart._

_For the first time that night, he saw a hint of fear flicker in Randy’s eyes._

_All he had to do was lean on the knife, and the fight would be over._

_“Beg me, Randy,” Dean growled, throwing the man’s words from earlier back into his face. “Come on. Convince me to stop.”_

_Dean didn’t even recognize his own voice. It was deeper than usual thanks to his bruised larynx, but it was also cold. Hard. Calculating._

_He sounded like his father._

_Randy forced out another huff of laughter, then spit a wad of blood from his busted lip onto the floor next to him, refusing to say a word._

_Dean was beyond reason. Beyond salvation. He wanted retribution._

_“Don’t go gettin’ shy on me now, man,” he taunted. “I wanna hear those sweet little sounds of yours.”_

_He plunged three fingers into the man’s bleeding wound, eliciting a choked off scream from him that made Dean feel vindicated and nauseous at the same time._

_Then Randy started to laugh again, appearing completely deranged. He sounded like a man who had accepted his fate and planned to take everyone else in the vicinity with him._

_“Th-thank you,” he gasped out between bouts of laughter and coughing._

_Dean’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “For what?”_

_“F-for helpin’ me destroy John in w-ways that I, alone, never could.”_

_Dean was absolutely stupefied. Even more so when both of Randy’s hands came up and locked around Dean’s knife hand only to hold it in place._

_The man looked straight into Dean’s wide eyes and smiled maniacally._

_“I’ll tell your mother you said hi.”_

_And then he forced Dean to jab the knife into his chest._

_Dean gaped at the man as Randy convulsed underneath him, coughing up blood and making horrible choking sounds as the viscous fluid flooded his throat._

_But the knife was too short to deliver a fast death._

_Horrified, Dean jerked back as soon as Randy released his grip on him. It took the boy a moment to realize he was still holding the bloody knife in his shaking hands._

_The gurgling, the spasms, the wild look in his eyes…_

_Dean just wanted it all to stop._

_So he brought the knife down again, plunging it into the man’s torso, then pulling it back out. Over, and over, and over again, until the man finally stopped moving. Stopped breathing._

_The only one still screaming was Dean._

_When he was too tired to lift his arm any more, Dean fell back and skittered away from the man until he hit the far corner of the wall and crouched there, knife still clutched tightly in his hand and at the ready if anyone dared to come near him again._

_He had no idea how long he stayed like that, but by the time the sound of the front door slamming open reached his ears, his legs had gone completely numb._

_He could hear a voice in the distance calling his name but he didn’t respond. He couldn’t._

_Then John came into view, stopping short in the doorway where he took in the grisly sight before him._

_When his eyes eventually locked onto Dean’s blood and tear-streaked face, the toughest man in the world fell to his knees with a gut-wrenching sob, the photographs Randy took earlier slipping out of his lax hand to flutter mockingly to the floor in front of him._

_He knew he was already too late._

_Randy had been right. Dean_ was _responsible for breaking his own father._

_TBC_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, brutal... Poor Dean! I promise he will be getting a lot of healing help from Sam and Cas in the next chapter to help lighten things back up again, but he's not quite out of the woods just yet. Please review! :)


	17. Put These Demons to Rest

Sam woke with a start, completely disoriented, to find a somber angel leaning over him. His heart was pounding with an urgency he couldn’t quite explain. “Cas, what…?”

“Dean needs you now,” was the simple reply.

Then it all came flooding back to Sam, including the angel’s outright betrayal, and the younger Winchester’s eyes narrowed furiously.

“What did you _do_?!”

He shoved Cas away from him and stood up, ready to rush back to his brother’s side, except Dean was no longer on the cot where he had left him.

Sam froze, horror-stricken. 

He knew he had released Dean’s restraints before Cas had knocked him out. And if his brother had managed to make it out the door somehow, he could be anywhere.

Just as he was making a mental list of all the people he should call to help track Dean down, a soft, animalistic whimper drew his attention across the room. 

His eyes landed on a tightly curled figure that was desperately trying to disappear into the shadows of the far corner.

The sight alone hit Sam with an overwhelming sense of failure as he stood rooted to the spot, his stomach churning painfully. 

He was too late. Dean was already broken again.

He jerked when a steadying hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Go to him, Sam,” Cas commanded.

Sam swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath, but then he nodded and began slowly shifting himself towards his cowering brother, trying his best not to startle the skittish man.

“Dean?” he called softly, crouching down in front of him and stretching one hand out which hovered awkwardly above Dean’s knee, too afraid to actually touch. 

When his brother didn’t react, he shifted even closer and tried again. “Dean? Can you hear me?”

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

_Dean’s entire body coiled when a large shadow settled over him._

_He raised the knife a bit higher, looking like a snake preparing to strike. “Get away from me…” he threatened, though his words were barely audible._

_The man in front of him knelt down but didn’t seem any less imposing._

_A hand reached out into his downcast view and Dean immediately flinched away, but the hand simply stopped palm-up in mid air, making no move to actually touch him._

_“Give me the knife, Dean,” the deep voice instructed._

_Dean_ knew _that voice. Knew he was supposed to trust that voice. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever trust anyone again._

_He shook his head in denial, his fingers clenching tighter around the blade until his hand ached in protest._

_Dean’s vision was blurred. Whether it was from tears, sweat, or blood, he couldn’t tell._

_But he knew that there was no way his numb legs or broken body would be able to carry him out of this hellhole if he tried to run, so he’d be damned if he was just going to hand over his only form of defense._

_“Okay,” the man whispered, placating. “How about a compromise then, champ? You can keep the knife, but you need to let me take a look at you, alright?”_

_Dean shook his head even harder, blinking away the moisture in his eyes, letting it drip down his cheeks instead. He didn’t_ want _anyone looking at him. And he sure as hell didn’t want anyone touching him._

_Instead, he pulled his knees in closer to his chest, using them as a shield, which elicited a small gasp from him when his body screamed in disapproval._

_John withdrew his hand and sat back a little with a sigh, torn between frustration and understanding._

_He wanted to give Dean all the time and space he needed to recover from the horrors he had just been put through, but he knew that wasn’t an option._

_While most of the boy’s injuries seemed inconsequential, he could clearly see fresh blood dripping lazily through the fingers of his son’s left hand, which was tightly pressed against his side, just above the waistband of his unbuttoned jeans._

_John had to get that bleeding under control whether Dean would allow it or not. The kid was disturbingly pale already, and he was clearly struggling to stay conscious as his entire body trembled with pain and exhaustion._

_He couldn’t afford to lose much more of that vital fluid._

_John knew he could disarm Dean and knock him out if it came down to taking drastic measures, but he silently prayed that that wouldn’t be necessary._

_The last thing his boy needed was more injuries to add to the list._

_“Dean, look at me, son.”_

_He waited until the boy’s clouded eyes reluctantly drifted up to meet his._

_“It’s over, kiddo. You’re safe, you hear me? I’m here now, and I’m gonna take you home. Don’t you wanna get back to Sammy?”_

_Dean’s glazed eyes seemed to clear a bit at the sound of his little brother’s name._

_“S-Sammy?”_

_“Yeah, buddy. He’s still waiting for us back at the motel.”_

_Dean slowly started to unfurl, preparing to force himself up onto his feet, ever the martyr. “Gotta check on him. Make sure he’s okay…”_

_John quickly gripped Dean’s upper arms, ignoring the boy’s full-bodied flinch at the contact, and gently tugged his son back down to the floor beside him._

_“He’s fine, Dean. I promise. We’ll go see him real soon. But first, we gotta get you cleaned up a little. You don’t wanna scare him, do you?”_

_Dean glanced down at himself, his jaw starting to tremble as the horrors he had endured finally began to register in his shell-shocked mind. He swallowed hard and shook his head._

_The need to protect his little brother was so ingrained in him that it outweighed everything else, including his own fears. Sammy would always come first._

_Slowly and deliberately, Dean allowed the knife to fall from his shaky hand. It clattered to the floor and John slid it a safe distance away before returning his attention to his child._

_“Good boy,” John praised at his son’s acquiescence, rubbing his thumbs soothingly up and down Dean’s biceps._

_He was trying to get him comfortable with the platonic touch, but he was also selfishly afraid to let Dean go now that he had achieved physical contact with the broken boy._

_John wanted nothing more than to pull his son into a tight hug and never let him go, but there were more pressing issues at hand than his parental desires._

_Dean didn’t need his father right now. He needed John, the soldier and field medic._

_“Let’s get that wound taken care of, shall we?”_

_Dean gave a minute nod, then John carefully added pressure to his grip, attempting to guide the boy down to the floor._

_Dean stiffened immediately, his eyes drilling into his father’s, demanding an explanation._

_“I need to see what I’m doing, kiddo,” John responded quietly, then waited with bated breath for Dean to make the next move._

_Thankfully, his eldest seemed to understand and allowed his body to go pliant so that John could maneuver him safely to the ground._

_Dean stared blankly up at the ceiling, his breaths coming in quick pants as panic started taking hold of him again. He didn’t like being in this vulnerable position. Didn’t like it at all._

_He shifted anxiously, his whole body trembling, and his hand tightened compulsively over the slice in his side._

_He didn’t want to be here anymore. He just wanted to go home._

_John hovered awkwardly for a moment, afraid to touch his own son. The last thing he wanted to do was make matters worse for him, but kneeling there like an idiot wasn’t going to help anyone either._

_“Eyes on me, Dean,” he instructed, hoping he could at least keep the boy in the here and now if he saw his father with him instead of suffering through nightmarish flashbacks of Randy._

_John knew PTSD when he saw it._

_He waited for Dean’s blown pupils to shift in his direction, then made sure to telegraph his intentions before every move he made as he began checking Dean’s body for any other serious injuries he may have overlooked at first glance._

_He didn’t want to talk his son through the exam because that would just upset them both. Instead, he began to hum a song he hadn’t listened to in years…_

_“Hey, Jude.”_

_His gruff tones didn’t do it justice compared to the melodic voice of his late wife, but Dean still responded to the gesture, slowly relaxing as his breathing began to even back out._

__Thank you, Mary… __

_Blinking the moisture from his eyes to clear them, John’s hands skimmed over deep bruises along Dean's forearms and settled on his cuffed wrists._

_He made note of the boy’s broken finger and knew without a doubt that that was what had made Dean scream over the phone earlier._

_It clearly looked painful, but it was far from life-threatening._

_Not wasting time looking for the small handcuff key in the sizable house, John pulled his lock pick set out of his inner jacket pocket and set to work. In under five minutes, he had the cuffs off and tossed them onto the bed and away from his son._

_The skin underneath the rough metal was mottled and mangled. Dean had put up one hell of a fight, but flesh would never win over cold, hard steel._

_John took Dean's right hand into both of his own and turned it palm-up, revealing the bloodied nail crescents the boy had dug into his palms somewhere along the way._

_He suspected he would find similar cuts on Dean's left palm, but for now, he preferred to let the boy maintain pressure on his wound until he could address it._

_John continued his search, shifting his hands down to pause over Dean’s unbuttoned jeans for a moment._

_From his current angle, he could clearly see the drying blood stain on the seat of the boy’s pants and there were no doubts in his mind as to the cause._

_But now was not the time._

_Dean had been through enough already, so John made a mental note to check those injuries later, preferably when Dean was in a drug-induced sleep to spare him the indignity of the exam._

_His gaze returned to the fresh blood oozing from his son’s abdomen._

_This was his only priority. The rest he could deal with back at the motel._

_He carefully tugged Dean’s left hand away from his bleeding side and placed it on his own jean-clad thigh instead, giving the boy something to latch onto if he needed it._

_Dean did just that, with a surprisingly strong grip considering his body was only running on the last few dregs of adrenaline._

_Getting his first unimpeded look at his son’s wound, John felt the insane urge to resurrect the dead bastard on the other side of the room simply so he could kill him again, slowly._

_The cut was deep. And without the help of hospital equipment, it was impossible to tell if any internal damage had been done as well._

_Dean was clearly in a state of shock, but it could just as easily be from the assault rather than internal bleeding. The only way he could be sure though was an invasive technique he had learned from the military._

_God, his son didn’t deserve this._

__I’m so sorry, kiddo… __

_As two of his fingers slipped easily into the hot, wet cavern of Dean’s sliced abdomen, the boy screamed past a locked jaw, struggled against John’s hold for all of eight eternal seconds, then collapsed limply to the floor, his energy finally spent._

_John’s soft humming slowly morphed into wretched sobs but he didn’t stop his exploration. Dean’s life was at stake, and he would do whatever was necessary to save him._

_He only hoped his son would forgive him for it in the end._

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

The first thing that registered in Dean’s mind was the quiet humming of his favorite childhood song. He focused on it, dragging himself back out of the darkness.

_Dad…?_

He felt completely drained, his head refusing to lift itself from the soft cushion it had found. 

Full minutes went by before his exhausted brain registered the fact that his soft cushion was actually breathing.

Dean tensed instinctively, his eyes snapping open as the strong arms that were wrapped securely around him tightened in response. The humming suddenly stopped.

“Dean? Hey, you back with me, man?”

The older Winchester blinked heavily, ignoring his throbbing headache as he took in his surroundings. 

He wasn’t at Randy’s place anymore. He was back in the cold, dank basement of the bunker. 

And somehow, he had ended up on the floor in a corner of the room, nestled against his little brother’s chest like a frightened child with one of Sam’s flannel shirts wrapped around his bare torso for warmth.

Embarrassed by the proximity, he tried to sit up but Sam held firm, keeping a cloth pressed against his brother’s bleeding side. “Easy, Dean. You still haven’t healed yet.”

Dean reluctantly slumped back down into Sam’s arms with a pained hiss. But if he were honest with himself, he was grateful for the excuse. 

For the first time since this all began, he actually felt safe, regardless of the fact that he was still bleeding rather heavily.

With Sam’s scent and long limbs encompassing him, he felt home. That didn’t exactly explain how he ended up in the corner of the room in the first place though.

“What 'appened?” he rasped out, not entirely sure he wanted the answer.

“You went back under,” Sam responded after a minute, his voice hardening at the memory. He spared Cas a quick glare from across the room, then looked back down at Dean. 

“Next thing I knew, you were crouched over here in the corner, practically catatonic. I tried talking to you, and after a while, it seemed like you were starting to come out of it. But then you yelled, seized up, and passed out.”

Dean winced, remembering all too well what had caused him to scream. His left hand automatically drifted up to his injured side, settling gently over his brother’s heavy hand. 

He gritted his teeth against the pain, dropping his head back against Sam’s shoulder as he tried to concentrate on steadying his breathing. 

Sam touched his forehead to Dean’s temple, reassuring himself that his brother was truly back with him. “You scared the hell outta me, man. Again.”

“Sorry,” Dean whispered back, and he meant it. 

Sam wasn’t supposed to see what lurked behind the bloodied curtain. 

Dean had done everything in his power to protect his brother from the horrors of his past, and now, thanks to the mark warring with the damned cure, all his dirty secrets were being laid bare.

His infallible strength had come from countless years of carrying these heavy burdens around. But now that they were out in the open, the walls of his carefully crafted fortress were starting to crumble, leaving him raw and empty inside. 

All the emotions he had kept bottled up for decades came spilling out, unimpeded. He tried to fight back the tears, but they fell just the same.

“I’m so damned sorry, Sammy…” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain building behind them.

Sam swallowed hard, raising his knees on either side of Dean to properly cocoon him, and buried his face against his brother’s neck as he rocked him gently.

“No more secrets, Dean,” Sam urged next to the other man’s ear. “I’m old enough now. I can take it. Let me be there for you like you’ve always been there for me.”

Dean was already shaking his head. What his brother was asking him to do went against every fiber of his being. “Sam, I-I can’t…”

“Please. _Please_ , Dean. For once in your life, do something to protect yourself instead of everyone else. The mark is targeting your deepest, darkest demons. We know it feeds off the chaos, so let’s take away its fuel and beat this thing at its own game.”

Dean sniffed, wiping tiredly at his burning eyes. “I wouldn’t even know where to start, man.”

“Start with Randy,” Sam stated firmly. “You still haven’t healed, which means we must’ve missed something.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Sammy. You know everything I do about that night now. Dad patched me up the best he could in the field, then got me back to the motel. He finished cleaning me up in the bathroom, and you were there for the whole recovery. End of story.”

Sam frowned, thinking his way through the puzzle, trying to solve it like any other case. “What about Randy? Did you…?”

“Dad salted and burned his body in his own backyard fire pit. Guess he didn’t want to take any chances that Randy would come back for a second round.”

Dean shuddered at the thought, prompting Sam to wrap the flannel shirt around him more effectively. 

The older man relished the warmth, allowing his aching eyes to fall shut again with a heavy sigh, hoping his brother would get the hint and leave him alone. 

He didn’t want to talk about Randy anymore, or ever again for that matter.

Unfortunately, Sam wasn’t that easily dissuaded. He jostled Dean enough to make him open his eyes again with an annoyed groan.

“Come on, Dean. I know you’re exhausted, but I need you to think. What are we missing here?”

“I don’t…”

“Where are the pictures, Dean?” Cas queried as he approached the boys, finally breaking his silence.

Both Winchesters looked up at the angel; Dean with wide-eyed panic, and Sam with utter confusion.

“Pictures? What…?” the younger man trailed off, turning back to his brother for an explanation. “What’s he talking about, Dean?”

Dean ignored him, his gaze still locked on his friend, his eyes narrowing accusingly. “How do you know about those?”

“The how is not important right now. Where are they?” he repeated, more firmly this time.

“...Dad’s journal,” Dean reluctantly responded, a quaver in his voice.

Sam’s frown deepened. He had flipped through that old book more times than he could count. He didn’t remember seeing any photos.

Cas disappeared, then reappeared, holding the journal out to Dean who hesitated before accepting the offering.

“It’s time to put this demon to rest,” the angel stated softly.

TBC


	18. The Past is in the Past

Dean ran his fingers reverently over the leather cover of the tattered journal, letting out a slow, steadying breath.

This hand-written heirloom held so much history; the good, the bad, and detailed descriptions of every fugly in between. As painful as some of that history was though, this book was Dean’s only real connection left to his father.

His father, who had sworn that he had burned Randy’s photos along with the man’s body. Who had lied straight to Dean’s face when the boy had finally summoned up enough courage to ask what had happened to the slanderous Polaroids.

It wasn’t until years later, after John had abandoned his son and passed the journal down into his capable hands, that Dean had stumbled across the only remaining evidence of what had happened to him at the age of twelve.

Frustrated on a hunt with limited clues as to what they were after and a steadily increasing body count, Dean had pitched the journal across the room with all his strength. 

It had hit the opposing wall hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster, then landed heavily on the floor, its pages crumpled awkwardly beneath the weight of the spine.

After a few minutes of agitated pacing, Dean had cooled off enough to go and retrieve the book, then flipped through it in search of any permanent damage. The back cover was slightly cracked, but everything else had appeared to be okay.

That’s when he had seen the corner of a Polaroid sticking out from between the back cover and the leather casing. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and with high hopes that the photo might’ve been of his mother, Dean had slid it free of its hiding place.

It sure as hell hadn’t been of Mary. 

Dean had stared down at his younger self, mouth agape and heart pounding wildly in his chest. He couldn’t have been more shocked if a total stranger had come up and slapped him across the face for no reason.

The memories of that terrifying night had come rushing back to him with so much clarity that he could taste the lemon-lime Gatorade on his tongue. 

His eyes were clenched shut in the picture, completely oblivious to Randy’s sudden fascination with photography. His head was thrown back in pain due to his recently broken finger, every muscle taut as he struggled to regain control of his breathing.

A thin line of blood trickled down the edge of the belt in his mouth from where the leather had cut into his slightly swollen lips, matching the color of the bloody bandage that had carefully been applied to the gash on his forehead. 

The deep red was in stark contrast to the alabaster glow of his sweat-glistening skin that had been illuminated by the bright flash, making the old scars on his body practically invisible. 

His torso appeared to be as smooth as the day he was born.

The arch of his back made his jeans fall low on his hips, and his biceps bulged from struggling against his restraints. 

Dean had swallowed hard. Even _he_ had had to admit that the photo was borderline pornographic.

With trembling fingers, he had dug further into the back of the book, and sure enough, he had found the other two photos as well.

In the second picture, Dean’s head was raised and his stomach tensed, a naïve confusion written all over his face as he sought out the cause of the previous flash of light. 

He may have been young, but there was still a clearly defined “V” shape to his thin frame that started just below his abs and disappeared beneath his low-riding jeans.

_“You know, I’m willin’ to bet some people would pay top dollar for these beauties. What do you think, kid? Wanna be famous?”_

Bile had crept up the back of Dean’s throat, but even that hadn’t been strong enough to mask the flavor of failure. Reluctantly, he had shuffled the third- and final- photo to the top.

This time, his young, narrowed eyes were staring defiantly into the camera lens, which was no more than a foot away from him. 

The bright green irises, lined with an edge of gold from the flash, complimented the red blood just as much as the black belt in his mouth complimented his pale face. 

There was even a smattering of freckles high up on his cheekbones, made more evident by the deep blush of embarrassment brought on by his predicament.

_“You’re adorable when you blush…”_

Dean could feel the heat creeping across his cheeks just thinking about it. And now here they were, reopening those old wounds yet again.

He tightened his jaw and mentally shook himself, trying to force the memories back into their Pandora’s Box so he could be more objective about the whole situation.

Then he reluctantly handed the photos to Sam.

Dean’s stomach clenched as he heard his brother’s sharp inhale. He averted his eyes as Sam quickly flipped through all three photos.

“Randy took these?” the younger man asked, trying and failing to keep the angry tremor out of his voice.

Dean just nodded.

“Why did you hold onto them, Dean?” 

“I didn’t,” the older man responded softly, allowing his brother a chance to connect the dots on his own. Sam looked up at Cas for answers, but the angel just stared down at him sorrowfully.

Then, sure enough… “ _Dad?_ But why the hell would he do that?”

Dean shrugged halfheartedly. “I dunno, Sam. I’m guessin’ he kept them as a reminder.”

Sam huffed, sounding incredulous. “For _what_?”

“For how badly I screwed up, I’d imagine,” Dean grumbled dejectedly, then snatched the photos back out of his brother’s lax hand.

It was the only conclusion that had ever made any sense to him. Their family didn’t exactly have the luxury of being pack-rats. You took what you could carry on your back, and that was it. 

For John to have kept Randy’s photos for almost a decade and a half, they must have had some sort of significance to him. And it certainly wasn’t to rehash the good times.

Sensing he had already overstayed his welcome, Cas vanished, giving the boys some time to talk things out in private.

The younger man gaped at his brother for a moment before finding his tongue. 

“You can’t honestly believe that, Dean. Dad could be a total ass at the best of times, but he never would’ve said that you were to blame for what happened that night.”

“He didn’t have to _say_ anything. I could see it plainly in his eyes,” Dean admitted, causing a physical pang in his chest that made him wince. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that disappointed before. Not even after the Shtriga incident.”

“That wasn’t your fault either, man.”

Dean scoffed. “Dad gave me an order and I disobeyed it. How was that not my fault?”

“Because Dad shouldn’t have brought us there with him in the first place. He knew something was targeting kids. He practically used us as bait.”

“There wasn’t enough time to ship us off to Bobby’s or Pastor Jim’s, Sam. Kids were gettin’ hurt. Besides, he wrongly assumed that if shit went down, I’d be there to stop it and keep you safe.”

“Dean… You were nine years old. Kids that age are _supposed_ to sneak out to play arcade games, not worry about loading a shotgun properly and holding down the fort. That’s what _parents_ are supposed to do.”

“We weren’t exactly regular kids, Sammy,” Dean responded flatly. “My point is that after Randy, Dad never looked at me the same. He started treatin’ me like some broken toy he didn’t know how to fix. Like I was a baby in need of coddling instead of the hunter he raised me to be.

“After about two weeks of that, I couldn’t stand it anymore, so as soon as I was physically able, I started training longer, runnin’ faster, shootin’ straighter. Anything to try and restore the faith he once had in me. But no matter what I did, it was never enough.”

Dean glanced forlornly down at the photos once more, the close-up image of his face staring back at him. This picture in particular seemed to be incredibly worn at the edges.

In fact, it looked more decrepit than the old photo Dean carried with him in his wallet of him, Mary, and baby Sammy, which had been taken way back in 1983. 

Randy’s photo came eight years later, but the frequent handling had aged it considerably.

Dean could only imagine what John must’ve felt every time he took that picture out. The anger, the fear, the disappointment, the revulsion… 

All the emotions Dean felt every time he looked in the mirror.

“Dad trained me to be a soldier, and that night, I failed him.”

“Dean, I’m usually the _last_ person to defend Dad when it comes to things like this, but whatever you think you saw in his eyes, I’m sure it wasn’t being directed at you.” 

“Of course it was,” Dean barked. “Who else would it have been? I knew how to defend myself, Sam. Even back then. And I should’ve fought harder. Should’ve gotten loose before things went as far as they did. 

“Hell, I should’ve figured out a way to get us fed without havin’ to beg other hunters for handouts. Dad had every right to be pissed at me.” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” his brother shot back heatedly. If Dad had paid a little more attention to his kids instead of the hunt, you wouldn’t have had to worry about any of that stuff in the first place.” 

Dean sighed wearily and pulled away from his brother with a grimace. 

“Don’t start, dude, okay? We’ve been over this a hundred times. Dad did the best he could, and I’m really not in the mood to argue about him right now.”

Sam shivered at the loss of contact. Without the heat of Dean’s feverish body pressed against him, the emotional disconnect was palpable.

Knowing his brother was trying to build up his walls and hide behind them again, Sam slid around Dean until they were face-to-face. 

He wanted Dean to understand that if his father had just taken two seconds to scratch Randy’s name from his book, Dean never would’ve gone to his place or gotten attacked. 

And if John had come back when he had initially promised, or if he had left his boys enough contingency money in case of his extended absence, Dean wouldn’t have needed to go looking to Randy for help in the first place.

That wasn’t even taking into account that John was the one who had pissed off Randy to begin with and unintentionally turned Dean into a pawn for the man’s sadistic revenge.

But one glance at Dean’s haggard and pale face told him now wasn’t the time. Even if he argued till he was blue in the face, his brother wasn’t in the right frame of mind to listen. 

“Okay,” Sam relented. “You’re right, Dean. I’m sorry. This isn’t about Dad, it’s about you.”

Dean bowed his head, looking every part the broken and beaten man Randy had turned him into.

Sam reached out and gently squeezed the back of his neck. “Hey. Listen to me. Dad never blamed _you_ for what happened, man. He blamed _himself_.”

Dean automatically tried to pull away, both from Sam’s contact and from his words. “Sam, don’t.”

If anything, the younger man moved closer and held on tighter in return. “I’m serious, Dean. I heard him say as much just about every night, watching over you while you slept.”

Dean swallowed uncomfortably past a tight throat. “He had nothin' to be sorry for. Dad was out saving lives. I’m the one who let a lowlife like Randy get the drop on me.” 

“You didn’t _let Randy_ do anything,” Sam stated firmly. “You hear me? He drugged you, Dean. You could be the best hunter on the planet and still get caught off guard. Some people are just sadistic and unpredictable, more so than any spook or beast we’ve ever encountered.”

Dean shook his head dejectedly. “Now you’re just making excuses for me.”

Sam bristled, his anger starting to creep up on him again. “Fine. You wanna talk excuses? Did you ever blame me for getting attacked by the Benders?”

Dean glared up at his brother, looking affronted. “Of course not. They blind-sided you.”

“Yeah, and Randy did the same thing to you.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue but Sam quickly cut him off. 

“Maybe he didn’t knock you over the head when your back was turned, but Randy’s name was in Dad’s contact list. He was a hunter, and an old family friend. You had every reason to believe he was someone we could trust.”

Dean huffed out a humorless laugh. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

He turned away from his brother again, successfully breaking Sam’s hold on him this time. He was afraid that his next words were about to put the same look his father had on Sam’s face, and that was something he just couldn’t take right now.

But his brother deserved to know the truth.

“I _didn’t_ trust him, Sam,” Dean finally mumbled. “I knew something was off with that guy as soon as I walked into his place. And it wasn’t the first time I had gotten those vibes around him either, but that didn’t stop me from going there once I was desperate enough.”

Sam felt like an elephant had just sat on his chest. He suddenly understood where Dean was going with this, but he needed to hear his brother speak the words first.

“What’re you trying to say, Dean?”

“I’m sayin’ the mental alarms were blaring loud and clear, Sammy. I just chose to ignore them, and _that’s_ on me.”

Sam’s hands were clenched into fists, itching to reach out and shake his brother until he saw sense. 

“Are you telling me that you _knew_ what he wanted from you, and you still went to him for help?”

“You want me to spell it out for you?” Dean growled. “Fine. I purposefully walked six and a half miles to Randy’s house so that I could beg him for money. I let him put his grubby paws on my leg before I even drank the drugs, and not _once_ did I tell him to back off.”

Dean was shaking now, consumed with fear of being judged if he continued, and self-hatred for not being able to stop.

“I had about twenty opportunities to just get up and leave, but I didn’t take any of them. I was desperate, and there was no way I was going back to our motel room empty-handed.”

Sam was torn between wanting to throw up and cry. Just the thought of his brother blaming himself all these years for what he went through as a child was appalling.

“Dean… What Randy did to you was entirely out of your control.”

Dean licked at his dry lips, his bloodshot eyes dropping once more to the floor between them. 

“You don’t know that. You weren’t there, Sam. I may have been a kid, but I wasn’t ignorant. He made it pretty clear what he wanted in return for that money and I took it from him anyway. Maybe I just got what I deserved.”

Sam shoved his brother against the wall with so much force, Dean’s head was spinning. He blinked stupidly up at the younger man, completely thrown off guard.

“Don’t you _ever_ say that again, you hear me?”

Sam’s right hand slowly curled into a tight fist against his brother’s chest, clenching the front of Dean’s overshirt right above his heart, feeling the pounding beat beneath his fingers.

“Randy took advantage of you and the situation Dad put you in. Even if you gave him consent, which you clearly didn’t, he had no right to touch you. You were way under age, Dean.”

“Get off me, Sam,” Dean muttered in warning, his gaze cold and purposefully blank.

The younger Winchester chose to continue barreling on instead of heeding his brother’s threat. 

“That man drugged you, he chained you up, and he tortured you. Mentally _and_ physically. He was bigger than you, he was older than you, and everything that happened that night was _his_ fault. Not yours.”

“I said get off me!” Dean shouted angrily, shoving Sam away from him. 

Using the wall for support, he forced himself to stand on coltish legs, refusing to let himself appear any more vulnerable than he already did.

Sam rose to his feet as well, giving his brother enough room to breathe but not enough to bolt for the door.

“He raped you, Dean,” Sam stated calmly and clearly, feeling like a complete ass when the color drained from his brother’s face from just the word alone. 

“Shut up,” Dean hissed back through clenched teeth. _Please, just stop talking…_

“There was nothing consensual about it, and there was nothing you could’ve done to provoke it, or prevent it.”

“I swear to God, Sam…”

“You didn’t fail anyone that night, Dean. Everyone else failed you.”

“But Dad…”

“That look you saw in his eyes? It wasn’t disappointment, man. It was regret. Regret for not getting back in time. For leaving in the first place. For not warning you about his past with Randy. And above all, for not being able to protect that last piece of innocence that you had left after Dad made you grow up so fast.”

Dean shook his head in denial, his throat closing up and his words failing him.

Sam knew he had his brother on the fence. He was finally getting through. He slowly pushed his advance, cautiously moving closer.

“You didn’t ask for Randy to hurt you, Dean, and you sure as hell didn’t deserve it.”

Tears were running freely down Dean’s face now, his bright green eyes hopeful for the first time, practically begging Sam for salvation.

“I killed him, Sam. He was going to let me walk so I could deliver a message to Dad, but I stabbed him instead. I stabbed him until his body was so mutilated, he was unrecognizable. What kind of monster does that?”

“The protective kind,” Sam answered simply. “I know why you did it, Dean. You used to have nightmares when you were recovering, and sometimes, you’d talk in your sleep.”

Dean ran a hand over his face, stopping when it covered his mouth as if he could take those mumbled words of distress back now.

“I know you did it for me, man. Randy told you he was coming for me next, and you protected me, just like you always do. And I’m so grateful to you for that, Dean. Every damned day. I just wish someone could’ve been there to protect you too.”

Dean was outright trembling now. It was a testament to his strength of will that he was still on his feet.

“Let me help you now, Dean,” Sam whispered, retrieving his lighter from his back pocket and holding it out to his brother. “Let’s put Randy to rest. All that guilt you’ve been carrying on your shoulders all these years? It doesn’t belong to you.”

Dean stared down at the lighter for a moment, then switched focus to the photos clenched in his free hand.

“It’s time to let it go.”

Dean’s gaze flickered up to Sam who was surprised but elated to see a touch of humor hidden in them. “If you break out into song, Sammy, I’ll end you here and now.”

Sam huffed out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

Dean reached forward and took the lighter from his brother, then let out a slow breath. “The past is in the past, right?”

Sam gawked at him. “Wait, have you actually _seen_ ‘Frozen’?”

“Come on, dude. Everyone’s seen ‘Frozen’ at least once. You can’t tell me it doesn’t remind you a little of us. The leads might be chicks, but it’s still about two siblings kickin' ass.”

Sam fought to keep the grin from his face but he failed. “I guess that makes you Elsa then, doesn’t it?”

“Shut up, Ana.”

With a bit more confidence and a smirk of his own, Dean flicked the lighter to life and held the flame against a corner of the photos. 

The burning plastic and film smelled terrible, but after a minute or so, the final embers smoldered on the floor where Dean had dropped them and eventually died out.

Sam looked up at his brother questioningly. “So?”

Dean’s hand pressed lightly against his side, then pulled the shirt aside. 

He carefully peeled the dressing off of his skin to reveal an angry red scar and deep bruising where the bleeding gash had been moments before.

It was clearly healing, albeit slower than the first trial’s wounds.

“Guess I’m finally on the mend.”

Sam closed the small gap that was left between them and ran his thumb lightly over the purple-tinted skin. Dean flinched and Sam pulled his hand away.

“Still tender?”

“Yeah.” Dean dropped the shirt back into place. “But at least the bleeding stopped. Looks like the mark isn’t as strong as it used to be or I’d be completely healed by now.”

“That’s great, Dean. If the cure is working, that means we’ve got a chance to beat this thing.”

“Right.” Dean looked away, his face intentionally blank again. “As long as I can heal on my own from whatever trials might be left.”

“If you survived it once, you can survive it again. You’re gonna make it through this, man.”

Dean nodded silently, though he seemed far from convinced.

“Come on,” Sam urged gently. “Let’s get you back on the cot.”

Sam reached out for his brother’s arm, but Dean pulled away.

“Wait. I uh… You can put the cuffs back on if you want to, but I really need a shower right now, dude. Please?”

Sam hesitated, not comfortable with the idea of letting Dean out of his sight until all was said and done. But then he remembered the blood on his brother’s jeans and could only imagine how defiled and sore Dean was probably feeling.

“Alright,” he agreed. “The cuffs can stay off for now, but the bathroom door stays unlocked in case another trial starts up while you’re in there. And use lukewarm water. Your fever’s high enough without making it any worse. I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

“Whatever you say, Mom,” Dean mocked as he headed for the dungeon door. 

He tossed one last look over his shoulder at his brother who was busy cleaning up the medical supplies, then he slipped out of the room and locked the door behind himself with a resounding click.

“Dean? Hey! Dean, open this door!” Sam shouted, banging on the other side of the metal barricade.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean answered, too softly for his brother to hear. Then he turned and headed for the stairs.

There was only one other memory that Dean could think of that was worse than the first two trials, and he wasn’t about to make his little brother watch him go through it. 

He’d survive it alone, or not at all.

TBC


	19. Seeing Red, Black and Yellow

Dean stumbled his way up to the first floor landing, then hesitated. 

The decision to run had been impulsive, but he knew he wouldn’t get far on adrenaline alone. He needed a plan, and time was ticking.

That dungeon door wasn’t going to hold his brother for long, so Dean had to put as much distance between himself and Sam as possible before the third trial began.

He couldn’t take Baby and risk crashing her when the pain inevitably hit, and it was rare to come across another vehicle this far away from the rest of civilization, especially one willing to pick up a hitchhiker that looked like death warmed over.

So his only option was to go on foot then, and if he stuck to the roads, Sam would catch up with him in no time. Which left him with the woods behind the bunker.

Poetic, really, considering what he knew was coming.

Sam would of course arrive at the same conclusion, but hopefully Dean would be good and lost in the dense foliage by then. He just had to make sure he covered his tracks as he went so Sammy couldn’t follow.

Glancing down at himself, Dean considered grabbing a fresh shirt from his room first, but judging by the lack of shouting and banging coming from the basement, Sam was already channeling his fury into a plan of escape.

And since that room had been designed to hold demons, not annoyingly intelligent little brothers, Dean was already out of time.

He pulled on a pair of boots by the door, then stepped out into the night without so much as a gun or jacket for protection.

Neither would be all that helpful during the third trial anyway.

Dean took a steadying breath, pushed away the remaining aches and pains that throbbed through his body, then entered the brush at the fastest pace he could manage with only the light of the half moon above to guide him.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Sam just about had the lock jury-rigged from the inside when the heavy cell door suddenly flew open, revealing a flustered Cas on the other side. He had heard Sam’s frantic prayers for help and returned to the bunker immediately, fearing the worst.

“Where is he?” the angel demanded, his eyes quickly taking in the empty room behind the younger Winchester. “Where is Dean?”

“Gone,” Sam replied simply before shoving past Cas and racing up the stairs, the angel hot on his heels. They burst out of the front door, scanning every direction for a sign of Dean’s whereabouts.

There were none to be found.

“Damn it!” Sam cursed, running his hands through his hair in frustration as he completed yet another circle and came up empty.

When he turned back to face the angel, the seriousness of the situation was written plainly in his eyes.

“We need to find him, Cas. I don’t think he’s planning on coming back from this one.”

The angel froze for a moment as the horror of Sam’s statement washed over him. 

“Then I suggest we split up,” he offered once he found his voice again, not for the first time regretting having marked the Winchesters’ ribs with angel warding, preventing himself from locating them during situations where time was of the essence.

“No,” Sam stated firmly. “It’s pitch black out there, and if Dean doesn’t want to be found, he’ll be nearly impossible to track. I need you to bring me Rowena.”

The angel frowned. “Sam…”

“You have to trust me on this one, Cas. Just do it. Now.”

Cas looked far from happy at the implication, but a second later, he vanished in pursuit of the witch.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean was about a quarter mile into the woods before the auditory hallucinations began.

_“Dean… Dean!”_

The bodiless voice echoed through the surrounding trees, instantly putting Dean on high alert and sending chills up his spine. 

He spun in a tight circle, muscles coiling defensively.

He knew his fever had reached a critical high thanks to the cure, so he wasn’t entirely sure that the voice was even real. 

His head felt like it was about to explode, and his body was covered in a sheen of sweat, contradicting the icy cold breeze licking at the exposed skin of his face and chest.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled low in his throat, a drip of sweat making its way down the side of his face. “Show yourself already.”

The first two trials had caught him off guard and kept him at their mercy, but this time, he knew what he was up against. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and more importantly, he was done being afraid.

After a moment passed with no response, Dean took another few steps. Then…

_“Where do you think you’re goin’, boy?”_

A sharp crack of a branch followed by the rustling of leaves sent Dean spinning to the right, but again, he was only met with more darkness. 

This trial seemed to be toying with him.

Well, two could play at that game. 

Studiously ignoring the randomized taunts, Dean pressed on, heading deeper into the woods and towards the swiftly flowing river that he knew would lead him further away from the bunker as long as he followed it downstream.

As expected, the voice didn’t take too kindly to being disregarded.

_“Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to you!”_

Against his better judgment, Dean halted, unable to ignore the direct order. He ground his teeth together in annoyance at the involuntary reaction.

“You wanna talk?” he spat back in reply, his eyes scanning the woods in front of him for any signs of movement. Then the words of the past began to flow from his lips, regardless of how hard he tried to stop them. “How about you tell me where you went earlier?”

“That’s none of your damned business,” came the deep voice from directly behind Dean, forcing every sore muscle in his body to tense all at once. He grimaced.

“The hell it isn’t…”

Dean turned to face his final trial head on, only to find a set of strong hands latching onto the lapels of his unbuttoned shirt. Or _Sam’s_ shirt, as it turned out.

The hands shoved against him hard until his back connected painfully with a nearby tree.

“You got a problem with authority all of a sudden, soldier?” the gruff man hissed in his face. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, boy!”

Dean’s piercing green eyes flickered up to lock onto the angry gaze of none other than the late John Winchester, and his chest immediately ached at the sight of the man. 

As much as Dean had tried to prepare himself for this moment, coming face-to-face with a tangible ghost from his past wasn’t something he could just shrug off. 

Randy had been bad enough, but to see his own father standing right there in front of him, to feel his breath on his face and his rough hands against his collarbones…

Nothing could have prepared him for that.

He wanted to stop this here and now, to forget the past and just pull his father into a tight hug of forgiveness and never let him go. 

He wanted to sit down with the man and tell him everything that had transpired since that fateful car crash that seemed like a lifetime ago.

And more than anything, he wanted to let John know that he had finished what his father had started and finally got the retribution his family deserved.

But of course, his younger self had no such qualms about continuing this fight and barreled on ahead, unrestrained.

“No, Dad. _You’re_ the one with the problem. I thought we were past all this…”

John’s eyes narrowed at him. “Pas’ what exactly?” he slurred, causing Dean’s stomach to churn.

“You really think I can’t smell the whiskey comin’ outta your pores right now?”

John actually laughed in his face. “Is that what this little tantrum of yours is about? You’re pissed I broke your li’l pinky promise? Grow up, Dean.”

“Fifteen years, Dad,” Dean ground out between clenched teeth. “Fifteen years you’ve been sober, and you suddenly decided to flush it all down the toilet?! What the hell were you thinkin’?”

“Last I checked, drinkin’ ain’t a crime,” John growled defensively. 

“Maybe not, but gettin’ blitzed right before a hunt is just plain stupid and you know it. You could’ve gotten us _both_ killed tonight.”

Dean pushed against John, attempting to put some distance between them, but his father surged forward again, this time raising a forearm to Dean’s upper chest as he shoved back even harder, eliciting a grunt of discomfort from his son as the rough tree bark chafed at his spine through the thin material of his shirt.

“Don’t blame _me_ cause you screwed up and let that vamp bitch get the drop on you.”

Dean’s shoulder throbbed at the reminder. He could still feel her teeth tearing into his skin while he desperately waited for his father to put her down with the crossbow.

“Are you kiddin’ me right now? My job was to be the bait, remember? It was your damned plan in the first place! I lured her out- unarmed, I might add, so she wouldn’t spook- then you were supposed to shoot her!”

“And I would’ve, but I didn’t have the shot! If I had pulled that trigger, you’d both be dead right now.”

Dean scoffed. “You were a Marine, Dad. I gave you plenty of room for a kill shot, but I guess it’s hard to aim when you’re seein’ double, isn’t it?”

The right hook that connected with his jaw left Dean seeing stars.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Cas didn’t waste any time finding Rowena and soon held her captive in front of Sam. She smirked up at the youngest Winchester.

“Finally ready ta accept my offer, Samuel?”

“Actually, I’ve got a better one,” Sam responded casually. “You help me find my brother right now, and I’ll let you leave here alive.”

Rowena laughed. “Oh you sweet, misguided boy… Do ya really think you’ve got th’ better hand here? 

“Ya clearly don’t know how ta locate Dean yourself or ya wouldn’t have brought me here in th’ first place. An’ if he’s run off, it’s because he knows he’s goin’ ta lose th’ battle, so you’re already out o’ time. Do ya really want ta keep playin’, Sam? Cause for Dean’s sake, Ah reck’n ya should just fold.”

She leaned forward with a cheeky grin that set Sam’s teeth on edge.

He ground them together in frustration, then hissed, “What is it you want, Rowena? You already have the Book of the Damned, and Crowley is…”

“No longer a concern,” Rowena finished with a confident flare. “He’ll be taken care of soon enough. All Ah need from you is a promise.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A promise to what?”

“Ta not interfere. It’s simple, really. Ya see, Dean and I have come to an understandin’, an’ if he dies tonight, he belongs ta me. You, my sweet, will agree ta keep your distance, an’ in return, no harm will come ta ya from my new pets, just as Ah promised your brother.”

“Dean is not one of your pets,” Sam hissed angrily.

“O’ course he isn’t, Deary… He’s goin’ ta be much more than tha’, I assure you,” she stated with a gleeful smile on her face. “But ya best decide quickly if ya want ta find ‘im in time ta say your goodbyes.”

“Fine,” Sam reluctantly stated, earning a sharp look from Cas. “I’ll agree to whatever you want. Just find my brother.”

Rowena clapped delightedly. 

“Excellent! Your wish is my command then! First, Ah will need th’ items on this list.” She pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to Cas. “Be a good lad an’ fetch those for me, would ya?”

The angel opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cut him off.

“Please, Cas. Just get what she needs.”

Cas brushed by Sam heatedly, pausing just long enough to state one thing under his breath so that only the younger Winchester could hear him.

“For the record, this is a terrible idea, Sam.”

Then he was gone.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean blinked hard a few times, then spat blood onto the ground, gently palpating his split lip to check the extent of the damage.

He was forced to let out a huff of laughter, though it was the last thing he felt like doing. “Just like old times, huh, Dad?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t askin’ for it,” John grumbled, stumbling back a few steps to give Dean some space. “Go grab the gear and get in the truck before I leave without you.”

John started walking away in a more-or-less straight line. 

Dean used the back of his shirtsleeve to wipe the remaining blood from his chin, then called after his father.

“You think I don’t know what today is?”

John froze in place. 

“I miss her too, ya know,” Dean continued, his voice softening. “But gettin’ yourself killed on a hunt isn’t gonna bring her back.”

John turned to face Dean, his eyes blazing with anger. “You leave your mother out of this!”

 _You first…_ Dean swallowed down his own retort and tried a different tactic.

“Look, why don’t we call Bobby in to finish this one? The vamps know we’re on to them now. We’ve lost our advantage, and a few days off could do us some good.”

John retraced his steps, stopping directly in front of Dean again, looking even more pissed at the added delay.

“You wanna quit, is that it? Run off to college like your little brother and pawn off your responsibilities on someone else?”

“No, Dad. Of course not. I’m just sayin’…”

“You’re weak, Dean. Always have been. I tried to toughen you up as a kid but clearly I failed.”

Dean snorted derisively. “Is that how you justified it to yourself all these years?”

John’s upper lip curled in disdain. “You know… I think you need a little reminder of who’s boss around here, boy.”

The unexpected blow to the stomach dropped Dean to his knees as he doubled-over, leaving him gasping for air on all fours, the punch echoing resoundingly through his torso.

John’s heavy boots circled around him slowly, then came to a stop on Dean’s right side. 

Dean instinctively raised his right hand in a gesture meant to protect himself, as well as to buy himself a bit more time to recover his breath before the real fighting began.

He was more than a little pissed at the set of sucker punches, and full-willing to give as good as he got now that he wasn’t a child anymore.

When the black spots finally began to clear from his vision and his lungs didn’t protest at every inhale, Dean craned his neck back, summoning all the courage he had to look his father directly in the eyes. 

John sneered back at him, and for one heart-stopping moment, Dean swore the man’s eyes actually glowed yellow.

At the time, Dean had chalked it up to a trick of the light. Perhaps the reflection of a passing car’s headlights from the nearby road. 

But _now_ … Now he knew better.

And because of that, he was going to have to watch this night play out again from the passenger seat, unable to fix things or send that yellow-eyed bastard back to Hell ahead of schedule.

That was the _real_ torture.

Then one of his father’s boots connected with the side of his head and sent him straight into oblivion.

TBC


	20. Crossing the River Sticks

Dean was slowly pulled back to consciousness by the sharp scraping of debris along the tender flesh of his back. 

Cracking open the eye that wasn’t swollen shut, he realized he was being dragged by his booted ankles like a rag doll across the beaten path in the woods.

His brain felt sluggish and foggy- no doubt a side effect of the concussion he was sporting- so it took him a few seconds to catch back up to what was going on.

Then reality hit him like a sledgehammer. 

John had started drinking again, and if Dean didn’t put some distance between them soon, he’d be in for the beating of a lifetime.

A tree passed by Dean’s face, close enough to latch onto, but his arms refused to obey, heavy with lethargy from the concussion. 

He focused on the pain in his body until the cobwebs in his brain started to clear and his muscles began to respond, then tried to wrap his hands around the next tree that entered his view. 

His fingers scraped along the rough bark but failed to gain purchase. 

Dean was starting to get frustrated at his own incompetence, his fear and self-preservation demanding that he _get it together right now, damn it!_

The third tree was a bit farther away than he would’ve liked, but out of desperation he twisted his upper body and lunged toward it, finally managing to make contact and halt the steady progression of his father’s footsteps.

John yanked at his legs in an attempt to dislodge Dean’s hold by brute force, but the kid fought through the pain of his screaming shoulders and ribs, and clung on to his salvation for dear life. 

Pissed off at the added delay, John turned back to face Dean and in doing so, was forced to readjust his grip on his son’s ankles. Dean seized the opportunity and managed to slide his left foot free of his untied boot.

Realizing his mistake, John quickly surpassed Dean’s other boot and wrapped both hands around the boy’s right calf and shin with a crushing grip that was perhaps a bit too tight for a normal human being.

Dean hissed through gritted teeth, convinced that he felt the bones in his lower leg grinding against each other.

“Let. Me. _Go_!” he demanded furiously, punctuating each word with a wild kick as he attempted to break free of his father’s vice-like hold.

“Stop it, Dean,” John growled so coldly it sent ice through Dean’s veins. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

As John towered over his fallen son, Dean looked up at the man’s face and regretted it instantly.

He had seen his father in a blind rage before. He had seen him bound and determined on hunts. He had seen him too drunk to stand, and too broken to stay sober or hide his tears. 

But he had _never_ seen the gleeful malice in John’s eyes that was being directed at him now. It was enough to shock him into stillness.

Something was very wrong here. 

John had been known to throw a few punches in the past when alcohol was involved, but nothing more than your average bar fight. 

A black eye, a split lip, a bruised rib… Nothing a few Advil and an ice pack couldn’t handle.

Hell, even Sam and Dean had traded blows before just to get a point across. Dean was used to that kind of pain. Fist fights he could take. 

But that look in John’s eyes told Dean his father was out for blood this time, and he wasn’t going to stop until he got it. John was itching to put his son in the hospital, or worse, and that just didn’t fit his father’s drunk MO.

Dean’s radar was blaring loudly in his head, and one tiny, yet powerful, word slipped past his trembling lips.

“C-christo.”

The man didn’t flinch.

“Now that’s just insulting…” John drawled, though the predatory smile on his face was proof that he wasn’t all that hurt by Dean’s assumption. Hell, he almost looked proud. “That’ll cost ya too.”

He tried to drag Dean away from the tree again by his right leg, but Dean tightened his hold until every muscle in his body was as taut as a bowstring.

“Don’t do this,” Dean rasped out pleadingly, unaware of the compromising position he had inadvertently put himself in.

John tutted at him with false sympathy. “Dean, Dean, Dean… It’s already done.”

The man sharply twisted the toe of Dean’s boot outward, nearly tearing his son’s hip out of the socket while simultaneously straining ninety percent of the muscles in his leg and groin, rendering the limb all but useless.

Dean cried out in agony as fire raced up and down the nerves in his leg. He reflexively released his hold on the tree in favor of rolling back to the right so he could realign his damaged joints. 

John used Dean’s bad leg to drag him a few feet away from the tree so that it was out of his reach, then carelessly dropped his son’s foot to the ground with a jarring thud. 

Dean curled forward with a barely audible whimper, clutching at his throbbing thigh and cursing the tears that welled up in his eyes against his will.

Though he couldn’t see it past his blurred vision, the sound of a blade being unsheathed reached Dean’s ears and instantly made him feel nauseous.

John was out of his mind.

Gritting his teeth against the agony pulsating through his leg, Dean tried to crabwalk back towards the tree with his three useful limbs but John swiftly kicked his right elbow out from under him, throwing off Dean’s balance and landing him back in the dirt again.

Before the boy could try to distance himself a second time, John crouched down above him and rested a knee heavily against his breastbone. 

Dean tried to shove him off but John grabbed his son’s right hand with his left and pinned it to the ground above Dean’s head, effectively immobilizing his right side, then brought the knife to the left side of the boy’s throat, stopping his struggles completely. 

“Dad, please… You gotta snap outta this…” Dean begged desperately. “This isn’t you.”

“Shh…”

John caressed the side of Dean’s face with the blade in a macabre show of paternal love, taking great pleasure in the fact that his son jerked away from his touch, unintentionally exposing his neck even further. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, son. It _is_ me, and this has been a long time comin’.”

The older man’s smile grew when he saw the unadulterated fear in the boy’s eyes.

_Time to kick it up a notch._

The Yellow-Eyed Demon had scavenged through every dark recess of John’s memories the moment he entered the man’s body, and he could’ve feasted off the misery he found there for centuries; The most delicious of which revolved around John’s eldest.

Dean was a fighter and no mistake, but if anyone could bring the tough kid to his knees, it was John.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

As soon as Cas returned with Rowena’s ingredients, she set about making her spell.

Sam paced back and forth on the other side of the room, biting his thumbnail as he watched. Every second lost could be Dean’s last, but as Rowena continuously reminded him, “Ya can’t rush magic, Samuel.”

Castiel spent the time staring out the window at the woods, perhaps silently asking his father for a miracle and praying that Dean would stumble his way back home any minute.

He kept at his vigil until the witch finally stated the words they had all been waiting for.

“It’s ready.”

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean confessed, hoping his dad would give him some sort of clue as to why this was happening.

“Don’t you?” John challenged. “Come on, Dean. I know you’re smarter than you look.”

The slight slurring Dean had heard earlier was gone, which he knew from experience meant his father was well on his way back to sobriety. 

If he could just buy himself a little more time, maybe John would see the damage he was doing and come back to his senses.

But what if booze wasn’t the cause? What if John had been hexed, cursed… Possessed by a malicious ghost? The only thing Dean had ruled out so far was demonic possession. 

_Or so he thought..._

There wasn’t much more he could do without his weapons bag though, aside from buying himself more time to think and assess.

“Enough with the theatrics. If you’ve got somethin’ to say, then just say it,” the younger man griped back, his fear and frustration quickly morphing back into anger. 

It was the Winchester coping mechanism after all.

“You wanna cut to the chase? Fine. You had one simple job to do, Dean, and you still managed to screw it up.”

Dean could actually feel his face getting redder.

“We’ve been over this already, Dad!” he barked back indignantly. “I did exactly what you told me to do!” 

John scoffed. “I’m not talkin’ about your playtime with that vamp bitch.” 

He carelessly slid the knife over a bit and used it to push aside the collar of Dean’s shirt, exposing the sluggishly bleeding bite mark on his shoulder.

“You already paid for that mistake. I’m talkin’ about November 2nd, 1983.”

Dean blinked up at him in confusion. “What?”

“We both know what you did that night, Dean. Just say it. You’ll feel better if you admit it out loud.”

Dean shook his head slowly. “Dad, I don’t know what…”

“Mary. My beautiful wife. She didn’t have to die that night, Dean. She died because of _you_.”

All the color that had pooled in Dean’s cheeks moments before drained just as quickly, leaving him deathly pale and shaking.

“No. No, she died because of that yellow-eyed bastard. I had nothing to do with…!”

“You turned the baby monitor back on,” John stated coldly, then watched as Dean’s eyes widened in dawning comprehension. 

His mouth opened and closed in an attempt to defend himself, but no words escaped so John barreled on.

“You think she didn’t tell me about the deal she made to save my life back in ‘73? You think that date wasn’t looming over my head every minute of every day for the next ten years?”

The knife was starting to dig into Dean’s bite wound, causing it to bleed faster, but he couldn’t feel the pain through the shock. 

He swallowed hard to clear the lump from his throat and tried talking again.

“What are you tryin’ to say, Dad?” he managed to rasp out.

John rolled his eyes in aggravation.

“Pay attention, kid. The concept isn’t that hard to grasp. I’m sayin’ I knew the demon was comin’ for Sammy that night, and I shut that stupid monitor off so Mary would sleep right through it.

“Then I went downstairs to keep my distance, even turned on the TV to drown out any noise. But the only thing I didn’t count on was _you_ screwin’ it all up!”

Dean was caught between fury and horror at his father’s words. “Hang on… You _knew_ that thing was comin’ for Sammy, and you just walked away?! That bastard could’ve killed him, Dad! How could you hand over your own son?!”

“Oh please… Cut the drama act. Sammy would’ve been perfectly fine. Yellow Eyes wasn’t coming to _kill_ him. If anything, he just wanted to make him stronger! Maybe if he had come four years earlier instead, my wife would still be alive.”

John waited a few moments to let those stinging words sink in, then he went for the kill shot.

“You’ve been nothing but disappointment after disappointment ever since. I should’ve just left you in the house that night to burn with your mother.”

Tears were streaming steadily down Dean’s temples and into his hair, but he never broke eye contact. The hurt and anger Yellow Eyes saw in those beautiful green orbs was simply delicious.

“Then again, if I had known how pretty you were gonna be when you grew up, I would’ve put those pouty lips of yours to better use.”

He ran the blood-tipped dagger across Dean’s bottom lip, staining it red.

“How much does a body like yours go for these days, anyway? Hope it’s more than the sixty bucks you got from Randy…”

Shaken out of his stupor by the sudden hatred boiling inside of him, Dean brought his left hand up and knocked the blade away, earning a shallow slice across his cheek in the process.

“You wanna kill me, then kill me. Just shut up already and get it over with!”

John easily flipped the knife in his hand and brought the hilt of it back down into Dean’s jaw, nearly knocking him unconscious again.

“Patience is a virtue, Dean. No one’s comin’ lookin’ for you. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

With Dean still reeling from the blow, the older man easily gathered his son’s wrists and pinned them to the ground over his head by sinking the blade through his shirt cuffs and deep into the hard earth below them.

Then the demon rained his fists down on Dean over and over again, fully prepared to beat him to death while John watched helplessly from inside his own head, screaming at him to stop.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Rowena mumbled out a bunch of words Sam didn’t understand, then her eyes rolled back into her skull until only the whites showed. 

Sam was afraid she was going to faint, but instead, she tilted her head down and turned slightly to the right.

“…Ah see him. Oh my… He’s in a bad way.”

“Where is he?” Sam demanded. “Take us to him!”

Rowena closed her eyes for a moment, and when they opened again, they were back to normal. She smirked at Sam.

“Sorry, Samuel. Ah promised Ah would find him. Ah never said anythin’ about takin’ ya to him. Finder’s keepers!”

Then she disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Cas looked livid. “I told you she would betray us!” His frown deepened when he realized Sam didn’t look as upset as he should.

“I knew she would, Cas. That was the plan.”

Cas cocked his head to the side in confusion, so Sam elaborated.

“You can’t track Dean because of the sigils on his ribs. But you _can_ track Rowena. And if she’s going to Dean…”

Cas’s eyes lit up with sudden understanding. “Then she will lead us right to him.”

Sam nodded. “Come on. I don’t want her alone with my brother any longer than necessary.”

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

When Rowena arrived near the riverbank, she found Dean lying on the ground, bloodied and broken, but still conscious if his hitched breaths were any indication. 

He was fighting to stay alive.

She strode to his side and knelt down, brushing a thumb gently across his swollen cheek.

Dean’s good eye cracked open and he coughed feebly, blood bubbling up from between his lips.

“You poor dear… He’s really doin’ a number on ya, isn’t he?”

Dean’s body jerked as it absorbed another blow, this time to the stomach, forcing the air to wheeze out in a hiss past his locked jaw.

It was clear he was struggling to keep his eyes open and trained on the witch.

“It’s almost over, love. We both know you’re not goin’ ta survive this again. Are ya finally ready for me ta take th’ pain away? Jus’ say the word, and we’ll seal th’ deal.”

“S-S’m…” Dean gasped instead, then grunted as an audible crack resounded from one of his ribs.

“Pretty sure he’s on his way as we speak,” Rowena replied. “Which reminds me… Pallium! He’s goin’ ta have a hell of a time of it. We’re cloaked from trackin’ spells. Even your wee angel won’t be able to find us now.” 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Cas and Sam were moving at a fast clip through the woods when the angel suddenly came to a halt. Sam nearly barreled into him.

“What’s wrong? Why are you stopping?” Sam demanded.

“I… I’ve lost her. She’s blocking me.”

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean was shivering violently between the pain, the blood loss, the cold night air, and the shock that was shutting down his systems one by one.

“I need an answer, Dean,” the witch prompted, not unsympathetically. “You _do_ want to keep your brother safe when the mark officially takes over, don’t ya?”

Dean tried to mumble something, but it was indiscernible. Rowena leaned over him in order to hear him better. “What was tha’, deary?”

The older Winchester drew in a rattling breath and tried again. “S-screw… Y-you…”

Another crack came from Dean’s chest, and after the initial sob of pain, Dean actually managed to let out a huff of laughter before his whole body seized and he passed out.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Sam continued on in the direction they had been heading in, praying that they were close. 

“Dean? Dean!” he shouted as loudly as he could, pausing from time to time so he could listen for a response.

Taking Sam’s cue, Cas began to follow suit, spreading out a bit further to cover more ground. “Dean!”

Just as Cas was about to lose hope, he felt a slight tug pulling him towards the right. His eyes widened. “Sam! He’s this way!”

Sam was back at his side in seconds. “How do you know?”

“The warding on his ribs… It’s failing. I can sense him now.”

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Rowena could hear Sam and Castiel calling out Dean’s name, and they were getting closer by the minute.

She put her hand on Dean’s chest and felt the weakening pulse of the mark of Cain. 

Much to her surprise, the hero side of him was actually winning the fight, and if that happened, she would lose her demonic lap dog. That would mean returning to her life on the run, and that option was simply unacceptable.

But if he died while the mark was still clinging to his soul, then the hero would be snuffed out and Dean’s thirst for blood would take over again, stronger than ever. 

With him by her side, there would be no stopping her.

Mind made up, Rowena grabbed the collar of Dean’s shirt and began dragging his limp body towards the river. 

TBC


	21. Breathe and Heave

When Sam made it to the clearing by the river, his heart stumbled a few beats and nearly stalled out.

Dean was face-down in the water, Rowena holding his head under the surface. Worse than that, he didn’t seem to be struggling. His body was completely limp.

Sam raised his gun and aimed it at the witch’s chest. “Let him go, Rowena!”

She slowly put her hands up, a victorious smirk on her face. “As you wish…”

The moment she released him, Dean’s body began to drift downstream, floating lazily along with the current.

Cas darted forward, splashing his way into the freezing water and gathering Dean into his arms. He carried his heavy burden back to shore and gently laid his friend down amongst the dry leaves.

The entire time, Sam’s aim never wavered thanks to his training, though he remained bowstring tense, waiting for the angel’s verdict to be announced.

“How’s he doin’, Cas?” he demanded over his shoulder when no words of encouragement came. 

It was taking all of his willpower not to throw caution to the wind and run to Dean’s side, but there was still a clear and present danger that needed to be addressed first. There was no way he was going to risk turning his back to the witch.

But the silence stretched on a little too long, so Sam chanced a glance in his brother’s direction.

Cas was hovering over the fallen Winchester, one hand pressed to his forehead, but nothing happened. His healing abilities had no effect on unnatural injuries.

The angel pulled his hand back in dismay, at a complete loss as to how else he could help the broken man before him.

Dean’s body had been ice cold when Cas had pulled him from the river, and his skin was a sickly shade of pale blue. 

Most of the blood that had been coating his face just moments ago had been washed away, but the bruises remained and they stood out starkly, mottling his normally fair complexion.

“Cas!” Sam prompted again, shaking the angel out of his paralyzed stupor.

“He…” Cas began, then had to start again. “He doesn’t appear to be breathing, Sam.”

Rowena’s sadistic smile grew. “You’re too late, Samuel. Dean is mine now. An’ don’t forget, a deal is a deal. You’ll not be meddlin’ in our…”

With no time left to lose, Sam pulled the trigger. 

A deal was only good so long as there was someone left to collect on it, and from the moment Sam had agreed to her terms, he had known Rowena’s time on this earth was quickly coming to a close.

If there were to be consequences resulting from her death, he’d deal with them later. _After_ he got his brother back.

The witch jerked with a surprised gasp, staring down at the red stain that was growing exponentially from the center of her chest. She sank to her knees and blinked up at the formidable giant before her.

Sam stepped closer and rested the muzzle against Rowena’s forehead.

“Go to Hell,” he muttered in reply to her previous statement, then pulled the trigger again, sending a second witch-killing bullet her way, this time directly into the redhead’s skull.

She fell backward, her dead eyes staring up at nothing.

Satisfied, Sam returned the gun to the back of his waistband and made his way to his brother’s side. He quickly dropped to his knees and pressed two fingers against Dean’s carotid artery. 

He did not find a pulse.

“Come on, Dean… Don’t quit on me now,” he muttered as he re-situated himself and began compressions.

He’d be damned if he were going to let his brother suffer through all the trials just to end up in Rowena’s clutches in Hell. 

Dean was _not_ going to die today.

Once he reached thirty compressions, he tilted Dean’s head back and lifted his chin, then checked to see if his brother had started breathing again on his own. 

After confirming that he had not, Sam pinched Dean’s nose shut, and delivered two rescue breaths.

The older Winchester’s chest rose, but barely. Dean had taken in too much water during his struggles, and the fluid would have to be forced back out before Dean would be able to replace it with oxygen.

Swallowing down the panic, Sam resumed his compressions, pressing a bit harder this time and wincing when he felt one of Dean’s ribs snap beneath his weight. 

There were at least two more bones that were shifting freely in his chest thanks to whatever had happened during the last trial, but Sam would worry about those later once Dean started breathing again.

When he passed the halfway mark on the second round of compressions, he glanced up at the angel who was sitting on Dean’s other side, watching the proceedings and looking every bit as broken as Sam felt.

Now was not the time for emotions though. They clouded judgment and got in the way of necessary action. They both needed to stay focused.

“Cas, when I tell you to, I need you to take over breathing for him.”

The angel tightened his jaw and nodded solemnly as he slid into position, determined to help in any way he could.

Sam continued counting his compressions until he hit thirty, then nodded. “Go.”

Cas mimicked what he had watched Sam do seconds before, then waited.

Sam reached for his brother’s throat again, but there was still no pulse to be found.

“Come on, Dean!” he yelled in frustration, then started round three, his anxiety building by the second as they passed the one-minute mark.

How long had Dean been underwater before they found him? How long had he been without oxygen? What if it was too late to bring him back? 

What if this was really it and Sam was never going to see his big brother again? Never get to berate him about his poor eating habits. Never get to ride shotgun in the Impala and listen to his brother belt out his favorite classic rock songs, always slightly off tune…

Never get to share another beer with him after a successful hunt, or watch with pride as he expertly hustled money for pool while simultaneously flirting with ever skirt that walked past.

There was still so much they hadn’t done yet. So much Sam still needed to say.

The fear and doubt were starting to overtake Sam’s previously detached focus. 

He needed Dean like he needed oxygen to survive. They were two halves of a whole, always having each other’s backs when they were in the thick of things.

They relied on each other completely, and without his big brother’s support and guidance, Sam would fall.

“Please, Dean… Not like this.” He had to blink to clear the tears from his eyes as he completed his compressions and watched Cas deliver two more breaths to no avail.

Sam brusquely wiped the tears from his face, then began round four.

“You _promised_ me!” he shouted accusingly. “You promised me you wouldn’t give up, so _fight_ , damn it!”

Sam knew he was taking his frustration out on his brother’s defenseless body, but he refused to give up, even if Dean already had. 

He would walk into Hell itself to get his brother back if that’s what it took.

He pressed on, ignoring the aching muscles in his tired arms. Dean was going to come back to a world of hurt, but he was going to come back. Sam refused to believe otherwise.

The alternative was just too painful to acknowledge.

The youngest Winchester was nearing the end of round five, as well as the end of his wits, when something finally changed.

“Sam,” Cas stated to get the other man’s attention, then pointed toward Dean’s mouth where water had started to slowly trickle out of the corner of his lips.

“Yes… Yes! That’s it, Dean…” Sam encouraged as he slid his hands down to his brother’s stomach and began shallow compressions in hopes that it would help Dean expel the water he had ingested. 

“Come on, come on, come on…”

Dean’s brow suddenly wrinkled in distress and his body convulsed, choking on the water in his airway. 

Sam grabbed his arm and carefully turned him onto his side, bracing Dean’s back against his thighs while keeping one palm pressed firmly against the thundering beat of his brother’s newly restarted heart.

The older man vomited up a fair amount of water before he was finally able to draw in a short, gasping breath. He continued to cough and splutter for what felt like ages before he finally slumped back against the support behind him, shaking and utterly exhausted.

He didn’t know where he was, or what had happened. He didn’t know the time or date, or whether he was in danger or somewhere safe. 

All he knew was that his entire body hurt, both inside and out.

Cracking his good eye open, he glimpsed a blurry figure kneeling before him, but whomever it was, they seemed to be moving further and further away as his vision began to darken again.

A small flicker of memory came back to him and he weakly reached out a hand.

“D-D’d… W-wait…” Dean mumbled deliriously, his eyelids fluttering at half-mast as he clung onto consciousness with every last dreg of his strength. “Dad!”

Cas quickly grasped Dean’s wayward hand with both of his own, squeezing gently to help comfort his disoriented friend. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” the angel assured with a warm smile on his face. “We’ve got you.”

“C-Cas? ‘s cold…” And with that, Dean’s eyes slid closed as he surrendered to the blissful darkness once more.

Sam felt his brother go limp and quickly jostled his shoulder, trying to bring him back around. “No no no… Hey, open your eyes, Dean! You’ve gotta stay with us, man. Don’t fall asleep.”

When Dean ignored his pleas, Sam eased his brother into a sitting position against his chest and ran his knuckles harshly over Dean’s sternum.

“Dean! Wake up!”

Dean jerked and let out an involuntary groan in response to the manhandling, then muttered out a few feeble protests as he was forced to return to the world of pain. 

He tried to push his brother’s hand away from his throbbing chest, but Sam gently caught his wrist.

“I know you’re tired, man,” Sam mumbled in sympathy next to his brother’s ear, holding his frozen body even closer with zero intentions of letting him go. “Just hang on a little longer till we can get you back to the bunker, alright?” 

They needed to get Dean warmed up, sooner rather than later judging by Dean’s sudden lack of shivering.

His slurred speech, disorientation, and inability to keep his eyes open were also red-flag indicators of hypothermia.

On top of that, there was whatever damage the third trial had done to his body, as well as the fact that he had died just long enough to flip the bird to Death himself. 

Knowing his brother wouldn’t be walking on his own steam anytime soon, Sam tried to figure out the best way to get him home.

He could try to carry him, but even in his weakened state, Dean would fight him the entire time. Not to mention there was no comfortable way to hold him that wouldn’t aggravate his injuries further.

He could try to support the older man’s weight by pulling Dean’s arm over his shoulders, but the jostling would be hell on his ribs and Dean probably wouldn’t make it ten steps before his legs gave out, let alone complete the entire quarter mile hike back.

His final option wasn’t going to be pleasant either, but it was the quickest way and the sooner they got Dean medical care, the better.

He turned back to the angel.

“Any chance you can zap us back to Dean’s room?”

Cas nodded solemnly, but Dean started to squirm, shaking his head in protest. “N-no. Can w-walk.”

“Relax, Dean,” Cas replied softly. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

With Sam’s final consent, the angel tapped a finger against both of the Winchesters’ foreheads, and all three of them disappeared from the woods.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Once they landed safely inside the bunker, Sam swayed for a second on his knees and swallowed hard before catching his balance and shaking off the disorientation. 

Dean, on the other hand, immediately leaned to his right and vomited more water onto the hardwood floor. 

His stomach was never very good at handling angel travel.

“Easy, easy…” Sam coached, supporting his brother around the waist and upper chest as Dean’s torso convulsed some more, though he was only managing dry heaves now since there was nothing left in his system to expel.

Dean let out a small whimper on a particularly violent spasm, and brought his left hand up to cradle his broken ribs. 

Sam grimaced in sympathy, his own hand sliding up over his brother’s to help support his fractured chest.

“I know. Just breathe, Dean. Slow and steady. It’ll pass.”

Sam was relieved to find that Dean was starting to shiver again now that they were in a warm, dry location.

After a tense minute, Dean dropped his head back on Sam’s right collarbone, panting heavily with his eyes screwed shut in pain.

Sam gave him a minute to try and catch his breath, then slid his arms beneath Dean’s so he could lift him off the ground and help guide him to the bed.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s get you warmed up.”

Dean immediately tensed as the walls shifted around him, latching onto Sam’s thigh as his hooded eyes darted around the room, taking nothing in. “W-wait, Bobby,” he rasped out weakly. “Jus’… I c-can’t… Where’s…?”

Sam wasn’t all that surprised when Dean’s eyes rolled back and he suddenly went limp again in his arms. 

Having a hypothermic person fall unconscious wasn’t ideal, but it would save his brother some pain and awkwardness as Sam prepared him for bed. They would rouse him again as soon as Dean was situated.

The younger Winchester nodded to Cas for help and together, they carefully lifted Dean from the floor and eased him onto the turned down mattress.

“Alright,” Sam stated, easily switching back into field med mode. “First thing’s first… These clothes have to go.”

Cas quickly looked away in discomfort as Sam began to unfasten his brother’s sodden jeans. “Right. I will just… go find him something dry to wear.”

Sam snorted as the angel wandered off in the direction of Dean’s closet. 

“Sweatpants. Bottom drawer,” he added helpfully. 

After living in such close quarters all their lives, there really weren’t any barriers left between the boys.

Embarrassment went out the window long ago after the third time his Casanova big brother had asked him if a certain rash looked serious.

And considering Dean used to change Sam’s diapers when he was a baby, not to mention how many times they’ve had to patch up random injuries anywhere and everywhere on each other over the years, modesty simply didn’t exist between them anymore.

Dean’s only objection would’ve been not being able to undress himself, but judging by how badly he was shaking now, Sam doubted his brother would’ve been able to undo _one_ button let alone change his entire wardrobe without help.

Sam carefully slid the frozen-stiff pant legs over Dean’s bare feet, then tossed the Levis aside. Dean’s head rolled a bit on the mattress and his breath hitched on a groan of pain as his injured leg was jostled, but otherwise, he remained unresponsive.

Thankfully, the freezing water had helped to minimize the swelling of his right hip, knee, and ankle joints, but the bruising on all three was dark as night. Sam hissed through his teeth.

“God, Dean…” Any guilt he might’ve had for teleporting his brother instead of letting him walk quickly vanished.

Foregoing the boxer briefs until Cas returned with the dry clothes, Sam moved up the bed and began easing his brother’s arms out of his soaked shirt.

He frowned when he caught sight of the vicious tear marks in Dean’s left shoulder. They looked like the work of vampire fangs, which left Sam even more confused about his brother’s latest trial.

“Hey, Cas, grab the spare first aid kit while you’re in there, and a fresh towel too.”

Cas returned moments later, offerings in hand. Risking a glance at Dean’s prone form, the angel’s prudishness was quickly replaced by concern once again. 

He pointed at the unconscious man’s shoulder.

“Is that…?”

“A vamp bite? Yeah, I think it is.”

“Perhaps he was revisiting Purgatory?” Cas guessed. “We were attacked left and right, day and night by all manner of creatures while we were there.” His eyes drifted down over Dean’s bruised and scraped torso. “It could explain many of his injuries.”

Sam remembered his brother’s desperate calls for his father out in the woods and shook his head. “Somehow I don’t think so. We’ll worry about the cause later. Can you lift him for a sec? Gently though…”

Cas nodded, then climbed onto the bed behind Dean. The older Winchester was still icy cold and soaked to the bone, but the angel didn’t hesitate to ease him into a sitting position against his own chest.

Sam finished removing his brother’s shirt and dropped it to the floor with a soggy splat, then began to tightly wrap Dean’s ribs to prevent any further injury to them.

As Cas eased Dean forward a bit so Sam could get the wrapping all the way around Dean’s torso, the angel got his first look at Dean’s back and grimaced.

His spine had patches of dark bruising as if Dean had collided harshly with an inanimate object, and there were shallow cuts all over the place, some which still had forest debris in them, suggesting he was dragged unceremoniously over the rough turf.

“There are more injuries along his back, Sam,” Cas informed the younger man as Sam finished wrapping Dean’s ribs and taped down the end of the gauze strip.

“How bad?”

“Bruises and scrapes for the most part. Doesn’t appear to be anything life threatening.”

“Good. Those can wait till we get him warmed up then.”

Cas pulled Dean back into a gentle embrace, allowing Sam to run the towel across Dean’s torso, carefully patting him dry before draping the cloth over his brother’s lower half and tugging the boxers off his legs.

The angel averted his gaze again when Sam finished patting his brother dry and slid the fresh pair of boxers onto Dean’s hips.

He cocked his head in confusion as the younger man then stood, removed his own belt and shoes, then pulled his T-shirt off over his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Sharing body heat,” Sam answered simply before climbing onto the bed on Dean’s other side. “Here. Give him to me.”

Cas handed over his charge and Sam pulled Dean’s back against his chest before tugging the blankets up around their shoulders. He gasped when Dean’s icy skin connected with his own heated flesh.

Dean would probably kill him for this when he was well enough to do so, but until then, he’d just have to deal with it.

Cas chose to remove his own coat and tie before lying down on the mattress as well, flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling. 

Dean’s warm breath was ghosting over the side of his neck and he found it oddly comforting.

Turning his head, he gazed fondly at his closest friend while Dean slept and he felt a surge of relief knowing that by some miracle, he wouldn’t have to wonder what life was going to be like without him.

At least, not yet.

TBC


	22. Please Believe

As luck would have it, Sam didn't need to wake his brother after all.

Dean's shaking was getting exponentially worse by the second as his body temperature tried to regulate itself. It only took a minute or two before he was seizing so violently that he woke on his own… Screaming.

Sam nearly fell off the bed in surprise, but quickly recovered and did his best to keep the older man still as he writhed in agony.

The curse of the mark was finally dying, but it was doing everything in its power to take Dean with it.

The excruciating pain seemed to ebb and flow randomly at increasing intervals, preventing the older Winchester from falling back asleep and escaping to the blissful darkness.

The only forewarning Sam received each time the pain was about to peak was his brother tensing in his arms seconds before the agony consumed him.

"S-S'm… S'mmy, I… Gah!"

Sam held onto his brother the best he could, desperately trying to prevent him from hurting himself any further.

He began whispering soothing words of comfort to Dean, giving his brother something else to focus on besides the pain.

He only hoped that Dean wasn't too out of it to hear him by then.

"Shh… I'm right here, Dean. It's okay. I've got you. Just breathe…"

When the fourth wave finally abated after five long minutes of endless torture, Dean let out a weary sob before burying his sweaty face in the pillow to muffle the rest.

Sam gently ran a soothing hand up and down Dean's trembling back, wishing there was more he could do to help his brother through this.

"Hang on, Dean. Please," he whispered softly, tears falling from his eyes and landing in the other man's spiky hair as he hovered over him, drawing him closer. "Just hang on."

Dean continued to shake and spasm for a good hour before his temperature finally balanced out and gave him a short respite. He slumped, boneless, into the mattress, exhausted past endurance and looking as pale and drawn as Death.

Every wheezing breath sounded like a battle barely won, and his pinched expression gave away how raw his entire body felt, even in an unconscious state.

Curled up on his side and buried beneath layers of blankets, he looked so small, weak and fragile…

Adjectives Sam never would've thought he'd use when describing his brother.

And just when it seemed like the worst was finally over, Dean's temperature skyrocketed.

The fever quickly reached dangerous heights, threatening brain damage if Sam didn't bring it back down fast.

Grateful for something to do, Cas got up from the bed and after a quick trip downstairs for supplies, began assembling fresh bags of ice.

Sam simply tossed the blankets off the bed and stayed by his brother's side, refusing to let Dean out of arm's reach again until they knew for sure that the mark was gone.

Dean was sweating profusely now, his burning skin flushed and almost too painful to touch. He shifted restlessly on his side, his fingers clawing at the sheets, desperate for any kind of relief.

Sam managed to coax his reluctant brother flat onto his back and did what he could to keep him still as Cas applied the icepacks beneath his neck, under his armpits, and across his groin.

Dean whimpered again at the newest burning sensation, but as the ice melted a bit and his heated skin adjusted to the biting cold, he seemed to settle down finally and find a moment of peace.

After making sure that Dean was in fact getting some much needed rest, Cas pulled his trench coat on and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam queried, his eyes trained on the angel's retreating back.

"Someone should take care of Rowena's body and inform Crowley that his mother is dead."

Sam considered Cas's words, then grimaced at the thought of having to deal with Crowley's reaction on top of everything else. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"I can handle Crowley. And it looks like you have things handled here. But if you need anything, just call."

Sam nodded his gratitude, and then Cas was gone. Sam turned his attention back to his ailing brother.

It was surprisingly rare for Dean to get sick, despite his poor health habits, but on those few occasions when he did succumb to a virus, they tended to hit him hard.

And when that happened, Sam always stepped up to the challenge, happy to take over the role of big brother until Dean was able to get back on his feet. This time was no different.

Sam wet a cloth in cold water and fell into the well-rehearsed routine of gliding it over Dean's forehead, throat, torso, and arms, washing away the sweat and blood while trying his best to avoid the deep bruises and cuts that were scattered along the way.

Rinse, then repeat.

The familiarity of the act was soothing to both of the Winchester boys and granted them a much-needed reprieve, however short-lived.

Dean drifted in and out of consciousness as Sam worked, his long eyelashes fluttering as he tried to stay awake but inevitably lost the fight.

About an hour later, Dean began to mutter under his breath.

At first, it sounded like gibberish, and Sam brushed it off as mindless babble from a fever-induced dream.

But then the younger man started to pick up on actual words and he leaned a bit closer to listen.

"Though' we were pas' this, D'd…"

"Dean?" Sam tried tentatively, unsure if his brother was waking up or not.

"…Miss her too…"

Sam's heart clenched at the mumbled words, and he suddenly felt like he was intruding on a private conversation that he was never meant to hear.

Getting Dean to willingly talk about their mother was nearly impossible these days. It was like he was afraid that the mark of Cain was going to taint his memory of her if he said her name out loud.

It was time for Dean to take some medicine anyway, so Sam gently shook his brother's shoulder. "Dean. Hey. Need you to wake up for a sec."

Hazy green eyes slowly cracked open and sought out Sam's. Dean tried to shift his stiff body a little and regretted it instantly, biting back a pained grunt.

"S'mmy?" he slurred, still a bit out of it.

"Yeah, dude. How're you feeling?" Sam reached out to check Dean's forehead.

The older man jumped at the unexpected contact, the spike of adrenaline helping to kick-start his brain back into gear.

He pushed his brother's hand away and his brow furrowed like he was trying to solve a difficult puzzle.

"What’re you doin' here, Sam?"

The question stumped the younger man. "Where else would I be?"

"You're supposed to be at Stanford," Dean stated accusatorily. "Did Bobby call you?"

Sam blinked stupidly at him, completely at a loss for words. "I…"

"Damn it. He promised me he would leave you outta this."

"Leave me out of _what_ , Dean?"

"Where is he?" Dean suddenly demanded, lifting his head just high enough to search the room and getting more agitated by the second when he didn't find what he was looking for.

Sam instinctively glanced around too, also coming up blank. "Where’s who? Bobby?"

"No, not Bobby!" Dean growled back, annoyed that Sam wasn't keeping up with him. "Dad. Where's Dad?"

Sam let out a steadying breath. He had forgotten how frustrating Dean could be when he had a high fever. It was nearly impossible to keep up with his wandering mind.

"Dean, he's…" Sam paused, unable to reveal the ugly truth to his already suffering brother who appeared to be stuck in the past. "He's not here," he finished, lamely.

Dean's frown deepened as he tried to hold on to the few lucid memories that were flashing through his mind. "But… But I heard him. He was at the door. And- and Bobby…"

Dean's eyes suddenly widened and he attempted to sit up.

"Bobby had a shotgun…"

Sam quickly pushed his brother back down with a hand on his good shoulder. "Whoa, slow down there. You're hurt pretty bad, dude. Try to lie still."

Dean ignored the pain and shook his head, his fever-bright eyes darting around the room again. "Gotta find him, Sammy," he rasped out. "Wasn't his fault."

Sam found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he had stayed in better contact during his Stanford years.

Apparently, something big had gone down while he was away and no one had bothered to call and fill him in.

His stomach soured at the thought of all the calls he had ignored from his family back then, trying to keep his past in the past and his focus solely on his future as a lawyer.

What if they _had_ tried to call him? What if Dean had really needed him that day, and Sam had blown him off to go study or drink with his buddies instead?

Inevitably, Dean's words from the night he came to get him at Stanford replayed in Sam's mind.

" _If I'd have called, would you've picked up?"_

Dean wouldn't have asked the question unless he already knew the answer to it. Sam had been selfish back then, but he was determined to make up for it now.

In order to do that though, he needed some answers.

"What are you talking about, man? What wasn't Dad's fault?"

"It wasn't him, Sam. I saw his eyes. He wouldn't have broken his promise otherwise."

"Slow down, Dean. Whose eyes? And which promise?"

" _THE_ promise, Sam!" Dean insisted, latching onto his little brother's restraining wrist as his own eyes bored into Sam's, waiting for the moment when the light bulb came on.

Unfortunately, there wasn't so much as a flicker.

The younger man's head was swimming with seemingly useless information. Nothing Dean said was making any sense. Maybe it really was just fever-induced babble.

One thing was for certain though. Dean was getting more stressed out by the second and that wasn't helping anyone.

Sam switched tactics and tried to placate his brother. He'd worry about getting answers later when Dean wasn't so out of it.

"Okay, dude. I hear you. We'll settle this after you've had some more rest, alright?"

"What? No, I…"

Dean tried to sit up again, but Sam just leaned harder against him, using his forearm as a bar against Dean's upper chest, preventing him from getting enough leverage to wiggle free.

The older brother grimaced at the added pressure on his bruised sternum and broken ribs, but he didn't quit his struggling. He pushed at Sam's upper arm and chest to no avail.

"Get off me, man!" he demanded in aggravation.

"Dean, stop! You're gonna hurt yourself!"

Dean was too weak to win the fight and Sam certainly had the tactical advantage, so when it became clear that Dean wasn't going anywhere unless his brother allowed him to, he stilled, breathing heavily and curling the fabric of Sam's shirt into his fist.

"Sammy, please…" he stated quietly, his tone begging for his brother to understand. "He's gonna kill him if we don't stop him."

A million scenarios flashed through Sam's head.

Someone had obviously beaten the hell out of Dean, and it would make sense for John to want revenge on his son's behalf, but why would Dean be protecting the person who had so horribly abused him?

Of course, it might help if Sam knew who had done this to Dean in the first place. Maybe they were finally getting somewhere…

"Dad's gonna kill _who_ , Dean? Tell me who did this to you."

Dean looked just as confused as Sam felt before his puzzled expression morphed into frustrated anger.

"What? No, damn it! You're not listening to me! _Bobby_ is going to kill _Dad_!"

Sam was stunned into silence. Why on Earth would Dean ever think that Bobby would…

Then he remembered the first time they had gone to see Bobby together after John had gone missing. Sam had been at the desk, studying up on the Key of Solomon, when he overheard his brother talking to the older man.

" _Bobby, thanks. Thanks for everything. Tell you the truth, I wasn't sure if we should come."_

" _Nonsense. Your daddy needs help."_

" _Yeah, but last time we saw you, I mean… You did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. Cocked the shotgun and everything."_

" _Yeah, well… What can I say? John just has that effect on people."_

Sam had been curious about the incident back then, but they had had bigger issues at hand to deal with first. And afterwards, he had completely forgotten about the entire conversation.

But now… Now he needed some answers.

"What happened, Dean? Why did Bobby threatened Dad with a shotgun?"

Dean just looked at him, his eyes brimming with pain and sorrow, and then Sam finally understood.

"God, Dean… Did _Dad_ do this to you?"

If Sam had known about this back then, he probably would've hunted John down himself.

Of course, that's probably the exact reason Dean had made Bobby promise not to contact him in the first place.

When they were younger, John had a habit of turning to the bottle when things got to be too tough, and he was one hell of a mean drunk, with lethal training to boot.

Sam could clearly remember at least a dozen times where their father went out drinking and came home with a head full of steam, looking for someone to vent on.

And Dean… Dean was always quick to stand in his way.

After all, he had to "protect Sammy." It was a knee-jerk reaction that had been instilled in him since the age of four.

Most of the time, Dean purposefully antagonized their old man, determined to be the focal point of his rage while Sam stayed hidden under the bed where Dean had put him until it was safe to come out again.

Dean was fast though, and more often than not, he'd kept John chasing him around at arm's length until the man passed out and that'd be the end of it.

Occasionally, Dean would end up taking a punch here and there, but for the most part, he managed to make it through unscathed.

But one night when Dean was about eleven and Sam was seven, Dean wasn't quite fast enough.

The room they were staying in was very small and hiding places were limited.

So Dean told Sam to lock himself in the bathroom, and then Dean bolted for the front door on the other side of the room, intending on leading John out into the parking lot and as far away from Sammy as possible.

Except Dad had managed to catch hold of Dean's wrist as he passed by him and John pulled, hard. In doing so, he dislocated Dean's elbow and yanked him off balance.

As he fell, Dean cracked his head on a corner of the no-tell motel's lamp table and he didn't get back up.

There was a fair amount of blood, and the fear sobered John up quickly.

He raced Dean to the hospital as soon as he managed to get Sam to unlock the damned bathroom door and get both boys into the backseat of the Impala.

The attending physician could smell the alcohol on John's breath, and after one look at all the old scars and new bruises on Dean's unconscious body, he called in Social Services.

Their little family had almost been torn apart that night, and when John finally managed to sneak his boys out of town, he had been a mess.

He kept apologizing and swore to Dean that he would never touch another drop of alcohol again. Apparently, that was the big promise he had broken.

"That son of a bitch…" Sam growled heatedly, running the list of his brother's injuries through his head again in a whole new light.

John could've _killed_ Dean if his brother hadn't been such a fighter.

Dean's grip tightened on Sam's shirt, pulling him closer to make sure he got his point across. "No, Sammy, it's not what you think. I saw his eyes!"

Back to this again… "What _about_ his eyes?"

"They were _yellow_ , Sam."

The younger man shook his head slowly in disbelief. That part of the story sounded a bit too much like denial. "Dean…"

"'m not crazy, dude. I know what I saw. I have to tell Bobby before it's too late. Please. It wasn't Dad's fault. He needs to know!"

Dean gasped as another wave of pain assaulted his body, releasing his hold on Sam in favor of wrapping an arm around his throbbing midsection with a muttered curse.

Sam's heart was breaking more and more by the second. He'd give anything to bring Bobby back, if only to help settle Dean down and get to the bottom of all this.

"Look, I promise I'll talk to Bobby, okay? But first, I need you to drink this for me."

He reached out to the nearby table with his free arm and picked up the concoction that he had mixed while Dean was out, chock full of antibiotics, vitamins, anti-inflammatories, and a mild sedative to help Dean sleep through the pain.

Dean eyed the cup suspiciously, then shook his head again. "Not thirsty," he grunted, though his rough voice sounded pretty dry to Sam.

All things considered, Sam could understand why Dean wouldn't want to drink anything ever again.

First Randy's tainted Gatorade, and then John's abuse under the influence of alcohol…

And to make matters worse, Dean had every right to be suspicious of the pungent mixture being offered to him. Sam had indeed drugged it, though for his big brother's benefit, not to cause him any harm.

"Dean, please. Just drink it. It'll help with the pain."

"I said no, Sam! Not until I talk to Bobby."

Well _that_ was problematic.

"I'll talk to him while you rest, okay? Dad's gonna be fine, Dean. Bobby talks a big game, but you know he'd never actually shoot anyone."

"Yes he would, Sam. Yes he _would_. Cause that's _exactly_ what he did to his own dad for abusing him and his mom."

Sam gaped at his brother, feeling like he had just been sucker punched. He knew Dean was always closer to Bobby, but how had Sam not known about this?

"He… He what?"

"Shot him and buried him in the backyard behind the woodshed. That old bastard deserved it, Sam, but Dad doesn't. It wasn't him. You gotta believe me."

"I do," Sam replied, and to his surprise, he realized he actually meant it.

He knew what his father was capable of, especially when he was drunk, and he knew Dean's first instinct was to protect his family whether they were worthy of it or not, but his gut told him there was more to this than one of John's alcoholic benders.

Now that Bobby and John were both gone, there was only one other person who might be able to shed some more light on the situation.

He fished his cell from his pocket and hit the second speed dial, then waited two rings for the angel to pick up.

"Cas, I need you back at the bunker. And bring Crowley with you."

TBC


	23. The Blame Game

When Cas and Crowley appeared out of thin air by the door, Dean’s head whipped around so fast that Sam actually heard his neck crack. 

“What the…?!” the older man exclaimed, eyes wide in disbelief and body immediately tensing, preparing for fight or flight. 

This time, Sam didn’t bother trying to keep his brother from sitting up. Dean hated being vulnerable in the presence of others. But he stayed close in case the older man faltered.

The angel’s eyes fell on Dean, looking worried as ever at his reaction, but the demon seemed rather amused by the whole situation. 

“Well, hello to you too, Princess,” Crowley snarked. “Someone’s a bit touchy today.”

Dean’s hand instinctively reached under his pillow for a weapon, but found none. Thankfully, Sam had had the presence of mind to remove it while Dean was resting.

“Son of a…” Dean growled when it became clear that someone had sabotaged him and left him completely defenseless.

He was reaching towards his backup piece, stashed in the bedside table drawer, when Sam caught his brother’s wrist, stilling his ingrained movements and commanding his attention.

“Easy, Dean. They’re friends.” Sam stated softly as he sat down on the bed beside Dean, then glanced at Crowley’s smirk and quickly amended his statement. “Well, for the most part.”

“Now now… Is that any way to greet a guest?” the King of Hell retorted. “Not still sore about the whole back-stabbing thing, are you? I mean, what’s one small manipulation between friends? Besides, Castiel called dibs, rather possessively might I add. I had no choice, really.”

Crowley casually strolled forward, circling to the right of the bed and taking in Dean’s current state and ever-increasing tension. 

His wandering eyes raked over Dean’s pale frame appreciatively, making both of the Winchesters uncomfortable, so Sam pulled the sheet free from the foot of the bed and tossed it across his brother’s lower half to give him a modicum of privacy.

Crowley chuckled at the less-than-warm welcome, assuming the boys were afraid of reprisals for what had happened to Rowena.

“Relax, Squirrel. I come in peace. If anything, I’m here to congratulate you. Leave it to the Winchesters to outlast dear old mum. Even _I_ have to admit that’s no easy feat.”

As much as Sam disliked the king of Hell and the redheaded witch that had spawned him, he couldn’t help but feel a pang at those words. After all, he knew how much it hurt to lose a mother, even though he had never really gotten the chance to know his own.

“Look, Crowley, about Rowena. I’m sorry I…”

“Save it, Moose. Ding-dong, the wicked bitch is dead. You’ll get no tears from me on her account. I’m just disappointed that I missed out on all the fun. Speaking of… May I?” 

Without waiting for a response, he took hold of Dean’s right wrist and studied his forearm, looking pleased. 

“So it’s true. You boys actually managed to kick it, eh?”

Dean jerked his arm free and scowled at the man. “Kicked _what_?”

“The bloody ma’k, of course.”

Crowley looked up into Dean’s eyes who stared back defiantly, still trying to make sense of what was going on. Something about this British guy in black unnerved him. 

And the dude in the trench coat seemed harmless enough, but he was just plain awkward, standing by the door, silently brooding. 

Dean found it hard to believe he was actually friends with either one of them, regardless of what Sam had claimed.

Crowley frowned at the brothers’ lack of affirmation. “You _did_ manage to end the curse, I presume?”

“Not quite,” Sam finally admitted. 

Crowley took a cautious step back from Dean. “Care to elaborate on that, Samantha?”

“I think it’s on its last legs, but we need your help.”

“ _My_ help? What could you possibly need from me?”

“The third trial,” Sam explained. “Dean managed to beat the first two, but the third involves my dad and Bobby Singer, both of whom spent a fair amount of time in… your presence.” 

Sam was careful not to mention Hell as twenty-six-year-old Dean wasn’t up to speed with everything that had transpired since then.

He certainly wasn’t ready to find out that the two men he admired most had spent decades suffering down there before managing to bust loose.

Crowley quirked an eye at Sam’s elusiveness but didn’t call him out on it. Dean, however, perked up at the mention of his father. 

His eyes locked onto the scruffy Brit with a new sense of interest.

“Wait, you knew my dad? Do you know where he is? Is he okay?”

Crowley’s other eyebrow shot up to join the first, giving him a look of total disbelief. His attention returned to the younger Winchester.

“Moose, what in blazes is wrong with Cheek Bones?”

Dean scowled at the nickname. Sam spoke up quickly to try to diffuse the situation before it went nuclear. 

“He uh… He seems to be suffering from retrograde amnesia. The third trial has somehow mentally trapped him in the past, and I have no idea how to get through to him. I was hoping you might be able to shed some more light on the situation.”

“Absolutely. Piece of cake,” Crowley responded easily. “I’ll have him back to his normal self in a jiffy.”

Sam looked at him with a hopeful expression on his face. “Really?”

Crowley huffed. “No, not _really_! I haven’t the foggiest what’s wrong with him! Perhaps if you could narrow it down a bit…?”

Sam let out a labored sigh. “From what I’ve gathered so far, I know it has something to do with my dad’s drinking problem and my brother paying the price for it.”

“Ah. You mean Flagstaff?”

Dean’s head shot up in shock, and Sam’s brow immediately furrowed. “No, I… Wait, what about Flagstaff?”

“Don’t,” Dean threatened their mysterious guest who clearly knew more than he should. “Just forget about it, Sammy. It’s ancient history. This guy doesn't know what he's talkin' about.”

“I beg to differ,” Crowley continued. “Seems like you _have_ forgotten about it though, haven't you Moose? Surprising, really. Then again, they told you the lashes on your brother’s back were from a Wendigo hunt gone wrong…”

“Shut up!” Dean barked, furiously.

“Thing is, Sam, you disappeared on Dean’s watch to have pizza and puppies for two weeks. Meanwhile, John was out scouring the neighborhood for you, and after he finally brought you home safe and sound, he made sure your brother never made that mistake again.”

Sam could barely breathe beneath the thick cloud of guilt that had settled on his shoulders. “Dean, I’m so sorry, man. I had no idea he would…”

Dean rolled his eyes, having heard enough. 

“Save it, Sam. Look, we don’t have time for this crap.” He turned back to the Brit. “If you don’t know where my dad is, then I’ll just have to find him on my own.”

He tried to swing his legs off the bed to stand and ended up crying out in agony, doubling-over as pain flared through his abused body.

Ignoring the steady stream of swears emanating from the man in front of him, Crowley reached forward and yanked the sheet from Dean’s lap, leaving him with nothing but his boxers again.

“Hey!” Dean yelled indignantly from his curled position, temporarily distracted from the pain racing up and down his damaged nerves as he watched the sheet flutter its way onto the floor in a heap.

The King of Hell snorted derisively. 

“Oh please, I’ve seen everything the legendary Dean Winchester has to offer, and on more occasions than I’d like to admit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Right… I’m betting you don’t remember all the good times we shared, but I can assure you, Little Dean had the time of its life.”

Dean looked like he was going to throw up. Sam wasn’t fairing much better. Crowley took it upon himself to elaborate.

“Relax, kiddies. My only involvement was the accidental walk-in while big bro was canoodling some waitress named Ann-Marie. In _my_ bed, might I add. Clearly, Demon-you had no shame whatsoever, but now look at you. You’re more of a prude than Feathers over there.”

“Demon-me?” Dean questioned, the thought alone being enough to raise the hairs on his neck and arms. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s enough, Crowley,” Cas growled, unhappy with the high level of anxiety that was emanating from Dean now. His friend had been through enough already without adding any unnecessary strife.

“Agreed,” Crowley stated with a slight nod, then turned his focus back to Dean. “If you lads want me to help you get answers, then I’m gonna need to know what it is we’re dealing with here. So stop squirming like a blushing prom date and let Dr. Crowley get a proper look at you, yeah?”

Without waiting for a reply, Crowley stepped into Dean’s personal space, put one hand on his good shoulder and the other on his knee.

Dean immediately balked at the contact. 

“Hey, what are you…?!”

“Can’t play chess without seeing the whole board, now can we?” Crowley replied. “Up you get.”

He began prying Dean back into an upright position, putting all of his injuries on display for everyone in the room to see.

“Get _off_ me!” Dean barked, shoving Crowley’s hands away and leaning back on his own to try and distance himself once more but was brought up short by Sam’s broad chest behind him.

“It’s okay, Dean. Just give him a chance.”

The older man did not look happy about it, but he acquiesced when he saw the pleading look in his brother’s eyes, something Dean had never been able to deny since the day the kid was born.

“Fine. Make it fast,” he groused.

Crowley’s gaze shamelessly roved over Dean’s battered body, taking in each and every injury. 

“Ah. I stand corrected,” he acknowledged as he put two and two together. “This is from the Great Winchester Debacle, circa 2005, am I right?” 

Crowley’s hand ghosted over the deeply bruised kneecap in front of him, then prodded gently at the purpled skin. 

Dean tensed again at the contact, but Sam placed a steadying hand on his good shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“My my… You certainly know how to get on John’s bad side, don’t you, Squirrel?”

“ _You’re_ about to be on my bad side if you don’t quit gawkin’,” Dean griped back, earning himself another smirk from Crowley who was clearly enjoying every second of Dean’s discomfort.

Crowley traced the bruising up his thigh and towards his strained hip.

When he reached the pantleg of Dean’s boxers, the older Winchester caught his wandering hand in a crushing grip.

“That’s far enough, buddy.”

Crowley was about to make some cheeky comment when his eyes fell on the freshly healed stab wound in Dean’s side and his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Hang on… I don’t remember _this_ bein’ a pa’t of the foreplay.”

Dean, suddenly reminded of his ancient history with Randy, shoved Crowley’s hand away again and pulled his own left elbow in closer to his body, using it to shield the old injury as much as possible. 

“That’s cause it wasn’t,” he grumbled back, giving no further explanation.

“That was from the second trial,” Sam supplied in a subdued voice.

“I see.” Moving upward, Crowley skimmed his fingers across Dean’s bruised sternum. “This wasn’t pa’t of the reenactment either.”

“Yeah, uh… That was my fault,” Sam admitted sheepishly. “By the time we found him, he had stopped breathing, thanks to Rowena who tried to drown him. I had to do CPR to bring him back. Broke a few more ribs in the process. But the rest was all Dad.”

Dean shot Sam a warning look. “I told you, Sammy…”

“I know, I know. It wasn’t really him,” Sam quickly placated.

Crowley glanced between the two of them again. “Think I’m sta’ting to see the problem here.”

“I wasn’t aware there even _was_ a problem,” Dean grumbled, still clearly annoyed by the impromptu exam he was guilted into enduring.

“And _that_ , dear one, _is_ the problem,” Crowley confirmed.

He ran his fingers up to Dean’s right clavicle, just below the raw looking vamp bite, and grimaced at the jagged wound. “Ouch. Got you good, didn’t she?”

“How’d you know it was a she?” Dean demanded, his hunter instincts back on high alert.

“Lucky guess?” Crowley responded, a teasing air to his words. “Or… Perhaps it’s because I remember your father saying as much once or a thousand times whilst enjoying the reenactment in my humble abode. He didn’t sound all that pleased about you allowing yourself to be that vamp’s lunch.”

“It was a miscommunication, that’s all,” Dean replied, gruffly.

“No doubt,” Crowley quipped back, then kept going. He circled behind Dean, brushing Sam to the side, and let out a low whistle as he examined the first aid wrap that was holding Dean’s ribs in place. 

“Bit of a loose cannon, your father. Especially when he’s had a few, eh? Looks like he didn’t pull a single punch. Real charmer, that one.”

“Alright, that’s it,” Dean growled. “Shut up about my… Ah!”

Crowley pressed hard against Dean’s mid back and along his badly bruised spine, eliciting a yelp from Dean who jerked away as a sharp stabbing sensation echoed through his torso. 

He tried to twist around to tell Crowley where he could go shove his inquisitive fingers, but his broken ribs wouldn’t allow him to turn, and neither would Sam who steadied him with a firm grip on each of his biceps.

“Careful, Crowley!” Sam warned, the threat clear in his tone.

“Apologies,” Crowley responded, not sounding sorry at all. “Thought your brother would have a higher tolerance for pain by now, considering his history.”

Dean bit down on his tongue and cradled his aching ribs, focusing on taking deep, steadying breaths through his nose as he waited for Crowley to come back around so he could try to kill him with a death glare.

Crowley’s hands continued their exploration of Dean’s injured back, though he was trying to keep his touch a bit lighter, which just made Dean feel all the more uncomfortable about his situation.

“Haven’t you seen enough yet?” the elder Winchester demanded over his shoulder.

“Just about…” came the distracted response. "You can't rush perfection, da'ling."

A moment later, Crowley sauntered back to the front of the bed, picking up Dean’s bloodstained sheet from the floor and inspecting it.

“Daddy Winchester sure did quite a number on you that day, didn’t he?” Crowley stated as he came to a stop directly in front of Dean again.

Dean’s heated gaze only connected with his for a moment before dropping to the ground at Crowley’s words, soon refocusing on the sheet dangling from the demon’s hand like Linus’ blanket in Peanuts, silently willing it to come back to him.

“It wasn’t Dad’s fault,” Dean automatically defended, though his tone lacked the conviction it had held before when it was just him and Sam in the room.

“Wasn’t it?” Crowley tossed back.

Instead of responding, Dean clenched his jaw and made a grab for the sheet, but Crowley pulled it just out of his reach and Sam had to lunge for his brother’s arm to keep him from falling off the bed.

“Too slow,” Crowley taunted. “But I suppose that was always the problem, wasn’t it?”

Having had enough of this cruel game, Cas appeared directly behind Crowley with an annoyed look on his face and yanked the sheet away from the demon, handing it back to the older Winchester.

“Here, Dean.”

Trying not to show how much that little vanishing and reappearing trick unnerved him, Dean simply nodded his thanks to the trench-coat-wearing man and kept silent. 

Alright, maybe he could see himself being friends with _that_ one… But the other guy? No way in Hell.

“Honestly,” Crowley drawled with an exaggerated eye roll. “You boys picked a date for the wedding yet?” He turned back to Sam. “The sexual tension between these two is enough to make me uncomfortable. How in blazes do you stand it?”

“Shut up, Crowley,” Sam grumbled back as he helped Dean wrap the sheet snuggly around his shoulders. “Do you know anything more about Dean’s injuries or not?”

“It’s not the physical injuries you need to worry about,” Crowley responded, then reached forward one more time, lifting Dean’s chin and trying to look into the younger man’s eyes. 

Dean desperately tried to hide the flinch when the Brit’s hand came towards him again, but he failed miserably.

When Crowley started tutting at him, Dean jerked his face away with a huff.

“Good news, Moose. I know what’s ailing your brother. Bad news is, so does he.”

“What’s he talking about, Dean?” Sam asked softly, but the older man kept his eyes down and shrugged noncommittally.

“How should I know? I just met the guy.”

Crowley sighed, exasperated. 

“In case you boys haven’t realized, facing the truth is rather important when it comes to ending this damned curse once and for all. Denial is just gonna get you killed, and consequently, get the rest of us killed. So why don’t you tell Sammy here why Daddy Dearest didn’t hug you enough as a child and we can all go home, yeah?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean snarled back.

“Don’t I? Cause I’d say it’s pretty obvious that you’ve just relived one of John’s greatest hits. Pun intended, of course. And I can’t tell you how many times that little gem replayed in Papa Winchester’s cell on those long, lonely nights in Hell.”

Dean looked up at him sharply when those last words registered.

“Oh yes, Dean. We spent plenty of quality time together in my workshop. I know all of John’s worst fears, his biggest regrets, and every dark thought that crossed his mind in between. And let me tell you, there were some doozies.

“But what he did to _you_ that day…? _That_ was the cream of the crop.”

“I told you, it wasn’t him,” Dean reaffirmed.

“Right, right… Azazel was commandeering his meatsuit. I heard all about that too. But you and I both know there’s more to it than that.”

Crowley leaned down so he was eye-to-eye with the older Winchester, his hands propped on the bed on either side of Dean’s hips.

“Come on, Dean. I know you saw it in his eyes, same as I did, especially towards the end. It’s the reason he left you there in the woods, all broken and beaten for Bobby to find. The reason he didn’t come back for you boys, even after he knew you were searching for him.”

Dean was still shaking his head, his eyes misting over with unshed tears and denial.

“What are you tryin’ to say, Crowley?” Sam challenged when it was clear Dean wasn’t going to fill in the blanks anytime soon.

“Think about it, Moose. When Bobby was possessed by one of Meg’s little minions, he had your brother dead to rights. But he stabbed himself instead. How?”

“He fought back and regained control.”

“Precisely.”

“Yeah, but that was a low level demon. Not a Prince of Hell like Yellow-Eyes.”

“Fair enough. Fast forward then to when you were possessed by Lucifer himself. It only would’ve taken a few more punches from your large mitts to finish big brother off, but…”

“But I suppressed Lucifer long enough to open the door to his Hellbox and ride him in,” Sam finished, suddenly understanding where Crowley was going with this.

“Sta’ting to see a patte’n here yet?”

“Are you telling me Dad wasn’t strong enough to fight back, or that he didn’t even try?” Sam demanded, his anger rising again.

“Azazel was stronger than your average minion, I’ll give him that. But I happen to have it on good authority that if the host of said vessel does not agree to the possession, then they can fight to regain control, just like you did. Just like Bobby did.”

“But hang on… Dad _did_ manage to fight him off when we were up at that cabin. That Yellow-Eyed son-of-a-bitch was slicing Dean’s chest open and using Dad’s body to do it. Azazel definitely would’ve killed Dean if Dad hadn’t stopped him.”

“Right you are. And that was the final nail in the coffin, so to speak, wasn’t it, Squirrel? Not that you remember that bit now, obviously…”

“What bit?” Sam pushed.

“That Daddy was indeed strong enough to break free of the demon’s hold. Always had been. Which means he wasn’t trying very ha’d the first time around.”

Sam’s stomach soured at the thought.

“But Dean, you said he had been drinking that day, right? Maybe that affected his ability to fight back?”

Crowley scoffed before Dean could answer. “The only thing the booze affected was his aim. As soon as he sobered up, that’s when the _real_ beating began.”

“Then why? Give me one good reason why Dad would want to hurt Dean so badly.”

Crowley looked down at Dean who was being uncharacteristically quiet. “You want to tell him, or should I?”

When Dean made no move to respond, Crowley pressed on. “Thing is, Moose… John didn’t blame Azazel for your mum’s death.”

“What?” Sam asked, momentarily thrown by the seemingly random change in topic. “Then who…?”

Dean finally lifted his head and made eye contact with his little brother, the tear streaks on his face glistening in the overhead light. “He blamed _me_ , Sammy.” 

TBC


	24. The Truth Will Set You Free

Sam felt his brother’s pain like a whip-crack to the heart.

“Dean… You can’t possibly believe that. You were four years old, man. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

Dean shook his head, his brimming eyes dropping back to the floor to conceal his self-disgust. “It wasn’t about what I _could’ve_ done, Sammy. It was about what I _shouldn’t_ have done.”

Sam huffed incredulously, moving forward as Crowley backed away a few steps, giving the boys some space to clear the air. 

“Unless you somehow figured out how to summon a Prince of Hell into our home when you were barely old enough to talk, there’s no way you were…”

“I woke Mom up.”

Sam’s rant faltered, unsure of what to make of his brother’s statement. “What?”

“I woke Mom up by switching the baby monitor back on after Dad had purposefully shut it off, and she died because of it. All of this… The way we grew up, the way Dad turned out, the shit we’ve been dealing with all our lives… It’s because of _me_ , Sammy.”

The story was so completely ridiculous that Sam almost laughed, but the seriousness in Dean’s eyes quickly sobered him. His big brother truly believed he was to blame.

And that was the moment that Sam finally understood the enigma that was Dean Winchester. 

No one would ever think themselves responsible for their parent’s untimely demise, unless of course they had been told such by someone they trusted implicitly. 

Someone who could do no wrong in their eyes. Someone they had worshiped since the day they were born.

Someone like John.

Sam tamped down on his rising anger in an attempt to keep his voice steady. “Did Dad tell you that?”

Dean shrugged noncommittally, unwilling to throw his father under the bus, even after everything the man had done to deserve it.

“But you said it yourself, Dean. Dad was possessed by Yellow-Eyes. You can’t believe anything he said that day.”

“You know as well as I do, Sammy, that demons also tell the truth, especially if they know it’ll mess with your head.”

“Sure, but only if you let it. If Azazel told you Dad was the Anti-Christ, would you have believed that too?”

Dean glared up at him, annoyed. “I’m not an idiot, dude. I know you can’t trust demons, okay?”

“Then why would you ever think that…?” And then it hit him, and his blood boiled. “Unless… Unless that wasn’t the only time Dad said it to you.”

Dean looked away, and that was all the confirmation Sam needed.

“When?” he demanded of the older man.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him in confusion. “When what?”

“When did he say it to you the first time? How old were you?”

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation. “We’re not doin’ this, Sam.”

“Dean, you’ve gotta hear me out, okay? I know this is going to sound really bizarre and confusing, but it’s not 2005 anymore. It’s 2015, and a lot has changed in the past ten years.”

Dean scoffed. “Well that’s a new one. Bonus points for creativity.”

“I’m serious. That’s why you don’t recognize Cas and Crowley. You’re missing a huge chunk of time. I’ll catch you up on everything eventually, but what you need to understand right now is that you’ve been cursed.”

“Won’t argue with you there…”

“It’s called the mark of Cain, and you have to survive trials in order to break it. You’ve made it through two of them so far, and you’re in the middle of the third.”

Dean glanced around the room, waiting for someone to tell him that this was all part of some elaborate hoax, but the two strangers and his brother just stared back at him, waiting for the truth to sink in.

“What kind of trials?” he ventured, trying to wrap his mind around it all.

“Memories. Bad ones, from your past.”

Dean looked down at his sheet-covered body, visualizing the injuries that lay hidden beneath.

“So you’re tellin’ me Azazel’s attack was ten years ago and I’m just reliving it now?”

“Yes.”

“Then what happened? Did we get the son-of-a-bitch?”

“Yeah, Dean. _You_ did. You finished Dad’s vendetta.”

Dean took a moment to process that information, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I can’t believe it’s actually over.” Then something else occurred to Dean, chasing the smile away as quickly as it had come. “What about Dad? Does he know? Wait, did Bobby…?”

“No, he didn’t shoot Dad, although he was certainly tempted. You stopped that too. Bobby even forgave him after a while.”

Dean let out the breath he had been holding. “Thank god. So where are they?”

Sam had had a feeling that question was going to rear its ugly head again at some point and he tried his best to be prepared for it this time. 

“We’ll get to that, okay? Right now you need to focus on yourself. These trials tend to get worse over time so we need to beat them as soon as possible.”

“And how exactly do we do that?”

“By talking about them.” Sam could actually _see_ the shutters in his brother’s eyes closing as he mentally barricaded himself against the storm. “I know it’s not easy for you, Dean, but believe me, it’s the only way out. We’ve tried everything else.”

“…What else do you need to know?”

“Just tell me when, man.”

“No,” Dean shot back heatedly, rising to his feet with a barely stifled grunt of pain. Sam took another step closer, ready to intervene if necessary.

“Dean, we need to know what Dad put you through if we’re gonna beat this thing.”

“Stop it, Sam. Don’t pretend your interest in this has anything to do with these stupid trials. You’re just lookin’ to start another witch-hunt against Dad, and I’m not gonna play any part in it. He did what he had to do, end of story.”

Pulling the sheet more snugly around his throbbing body, Dean started to shuffle towards the fresh set of clothes his brother had folded nicely for him and left on a chair over by the door. 

He was determined to put some space between himself and the three pairs of eyes that were boring into him, but he didn’t get far before Sam latched onto his upper arm, halting his retreat. 

“Screw Dad!” the younger man yelled, causing Dean to visibly flinch, but that didn’t stop Sam’s tirade. “The man was a self-absorbed ass who treated you more like a weapon or a scapegoat than a son. So yeah, I’m pissed at him. But right now, I’m more concerned about getting my big brother back.”

“Sam, if you wanna know about the when so badly, then why don’t you just ask him yourself?”

As Dean turned to face Sam so that they could continue their argument like men, a wave of dizziness hit him and his head pulsed fiercely. 

Scattered images flashed before his eyes, too quickly to digest.

He saw clips of other arguments with his brother, arguments with his father, unanswered phone calls for help, and John driving away in a new red truck.

The glimpses, along with the supplemental emotions, felt familiar as if he had lived through them before, but the details were still missing.

He stumbled back a step with a hiss, his free hand coming up to press against his temple while the other remained trapped in Sam’s strong grip as his little brother desperately tried to steady him.

“Dean?”

He wasn’t quite sure how long the dizzy spell lasted. It felt like hours, but could easily have just been a matter of seconds. Either way, he was pretty sure his brother was still saying something.

It was another few seconds before he was able to recognize the words as English.

“Talk to me, man…” Sam pleaded. “What’s happening?”

When Dean reopened his eyes, he found himself resting against the side of the bed once more, no doubt maneuvered there by his brother’s quick reflexes. 

One step forward, three steps back. The older man groaned in defeat, then felt guilty when Sam interpreted it wrong, thinking the sound was one of pain rather than regret.

“Dean!” Sam demanded, nearing the end of his wits.

“’m okay,” Dean muttered as he massaged his aching temple and waited for his vision to clear. 

“What the hell was that?”

“Dunno. I saw a bunch of images, but they were hard to make out. Maybe my memories are startin’ to come back.”

“Damn it… This is exactly what I was talking about, man. The curse is still fighting the cure, and the longer you hold out, the worse it’s going to get. We need to end this. _Now_.”

Dean sighed, dropping his raised hand down to his lap where the sheet had pooled.

“It doesn’t matter when, alright? The point is he said it, so just drop it already.”

“No way. Every detail counts, Dean. Don’t clam up on me now.”

Dean shook his head, then glanced back at his sweatpants on the other side of the room. “Can’t I at least get dressed before we jump into a live-action chick flick here?”

If Sam thought Dean would honestly open up once his request was granted, he would’ve had no problem with the minor delay. 

But he knew his brother too well, and this was just the first of many ploys designed to postpone the inevitable.

“No. Talk first, then clothes.”

“Seriously?” Dean all but whined.

“Seriously,” Sam reaffirmed. “We don’t know when the cure is going to flare up again, so time is of the essence here. And if you continue to avoid my questions, I’ll just have Cas pull the information we need from your memories.”

Dean’s eyes widened a bit at the threat and he looked between his brother and the angel who seemed to be just as surprised as he was.

“Can you really do that?” he asked the man in the trench coat who shifted uncomfortably for a moment before responding.

“I… Yes, technically it is possible…”

“So what’s it gonna be, Dean?” Sam pressed before Cas could admit that he wouldn’t risk messing with Dean’s mind again since the last attempt nearly put him in a coma.

Dean rummaged around in his brain for any other way out. 

“It was a long time ago, Sammy. Everything’s kinda jumbled right now. I don’t really remember when exactly…”

“Cas,” Sam commanded, and as he anticipated, Dean panicked as soon as the angel stepped towards him.

“Alright, alright! It was 1989. I think we were in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin.”

“The shtriga incident again?” Sam could actually feel the heat rising in his gut.

Dean looked up at him, surprised. “You know about that?”

“I got the gist,” Sam replied shortly. “So what happened?”

Dean licked at his dry lips before elaborating. 

“When Dad was leavin’ for the hunt that day, he and I went through the usual drill. Don’t answer the door, shoot first and ask questions later, don’t pick up the phone unless it rings once first… All that day-to-day crap. 

“I told him we had already gone over it a million times and that I wasn’t stupid. He said he knew that, but it only took one mistake. I could tell from the look he gave me that he was talkin’ about Mom.”

Sam knew that look all too well. The guilt, the pain, the anger… He saw it himself in the mirror every day for months after Jess died.

Dean was the most perceptive person Sam had ever known. He could read people better than Missouri Mosley herself, even as a kid. If the smallest hint of blame had crossed John’s face back then, Dean definitely would’ve picked up on it and taken it to heart.

Dean’s hand started to rub small circles against his chest absently, trying to ease the ache that was building with every passing word.

Sam picked up on the subconscious movement instantly but held his tongue, unwilling to break his brother’s train of thought and risk him shutting down for good.

“Not gonna lie, the accusation stung like a bitch,” Dean admitted quietly, “and that’s the real reason I went out for a while that night. Had to blow off some steam, ya know? And when I got back and that thing was attackin' you on my watch… The anger in Dad’s eyes… I had screwed up yet again.”

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face in aggravation, wiping at the tears that refused to quit. 

He was supposed to be the strong one. That was how his father had raised him. But he had reached a breaking point and all that inner turmoil that he had bottled up over the years was finally boiling over.

He took a moment to compose himself, attempting to compartmentalize the pain and distance himself from the worst of it, then he let out a steadying breath and continued.

“After he made sure you were okay and put you back to bed, he tore me a new one, and rightly so. I could’ve gotten you killed that night. And that’s when he brought up Mom again, sayin’ how the smallest mistakes could cost you everything, and that he thought I would’ve learned my lesson by now.

“At the time, I didn’t remember that I had turned the monitor back on and I had no idea why he was suddenly blaming me for what had happened to Mom, but there was no doubt in my mind that he thought her death was my fault.”

Dean swallowed hard, blinking down at his lap as he pulled himself back to the present.

“It wasn’t until he came after me in the woods that all the pieces fell into place and I realized he was right. She _did_ die because of me.”

Standing there in front of his brother, who looked smaller than physically possible and broken beyond repair, Sam had never hated their father more.

There were very few people in this world around whom Dean dropped his guard and exposed his vulnerable side to, and John had taken that infallible trust and abused it in the most heinous way possible.

Dean had been told by his father- his drill sergeant, his hero- that he had failed, and he had spent the rest of his life trying to make up for something that had been completely beyond his control.

An accusation like that never should’ve even crossed John’s mind, let alone been voiced to his eldest son at such a tender and impressionable age.

Dean’s self-esteem had been buried under decades of guilt, and he had been suffocating under it ever since.

So much of Dean’s personality suddenly became clear to Sam.

The way he never questioned his father’s authority after that day, how he became John’s perfect little soldier, why he never disobeyed a direct order, gave up any chance at normalcy in order to finish his father’s pointless vendetta, and continuously used himself as bait on dangerous hunts, sacrificing himself more times than Sam could count…

Not to mention, it was also the inciting incident that had ultimately led to his brother suffering through thirty years of Hell, and also landed him on Randy’s doorstep. 

It was hardly any surprise that Dean’s mind had splintered under the weight of it all. 

And now Dean was reliving that pain tenfold, the physical and emotional wounds as fresh as if they had just happened yesterday. 

“It’s all because of me…” Dean repeated softly, accepting the accusation once again as an undeniable truth. 

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Sam squeezed his brother’s shoulder gently and spoke as sincerely as he could.

“Dean, listen to me. What happened to Mom was in no way your fault. Dad never should’ve laid that kind of blame on your shoulders. He was blinded by his own pain, and he wrongly took it out on you.”

“Was?” Dean croaked past a dried throat, his head snapping up.

Sam frowned at him in confusion. “What?”

“You said he ‘was’, Sammy.”

Sam froze, suddenly realizing his mistake. “Dean, I… I just meant that…”

Dean studied his brother’s face, searching for the truth, and what he found there turned his stomach into a nauseating block of ice.

He saw an emptiness in those hazel eyes that he had never seen in them before; A dark void of pain that Dean had come to associate with the death of a loved one, and a resignation that he would have to be the bearer of bad news.

“Sammy, where’s Dad?” he whispered brokenly, already sure he knew the answer but unwilling to believe it.

Sam closed his eyes, mentally kicking himself for his slip-up. 

“Dean, he…” The younger man couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but it quickly became clear that he wouldn’t have to.

“No…” Dean started shaking his head again, a fresh wave of tears assaulting him as the walls closed in, making it impossible to breathe. 

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I didn’t want you to find out this way. It was a long time ago.”

Dean’s eyes squeezed shut as if to block out his brother’s words, sending fresh tears rolling down his ruddy face. 

While John’s death may have happened years ago for Sam, it was all new to Dean, and the pain of his loss on top of everything else was beyond overwhelming.

He grunted as he clutched at his chest in distress, the anguish in his heart growing until it manifested itself as physical pain.

Cas took a cautious step forward, his head tilted as he listened, concerned. 

“Sam, his heart rate is elevated to a dangerous level. You have to calm him down or he’ll go into cardiac arrest again.”

Taking the angel’s warning to heart, Sam gripped his brother’s chin and lifted it.

“Dean? Hey, look at me, man.”

Dean cracked his eyes open on command, but then the pain spiked in his head for a second time, and a fresh wave of images sent him to his knees with a yelp.

He saw his father captured by demons and tied to a bed, the three Winchester men in a cabin where John’s eyes had turned yellow again.

Felt sheer agony as his possessed father shredded his chest open and left him for dead. 

Saw Sam shooting John in the leg after Dean had begged him not to kill the man, and a giant truck barreling into the side of the Impala…

Then the worst part of all; Dean remembered dying in the hospital that day, and his father selling himself to a demon in order to save his son’s worthless life.

The weight was too much, the pain too raw. The sobs erupted from deep inside his soul. 

He wanted it to end, was full-willing to throw in the towel to make the pain stop, but then his parents would’ve died for nothing, and that would’ve been on him too.

There was no way out. No light at the end of the tunnel. Just a loop of agony that threatened to push him off the mental precipice once and for all.

Then a pair of strong arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace, the only glue that was holding his shattered pieces together.

“Shh… I’ve got you, Dean. Just breathe. It’s all gonna be okay.”

“It sh-should’ve been me, S-Sammy,” Dean whimpered against his brother’s shoulder. “First M-Mom, then Dad… They both d-died because of _me_.”

“No, Dean,” Sam stated firmly. “Both of them made their own decisions, and they accepted the consequences of their actions.”

“B-but Mom…”

“Mom made a deal with Azazel before you were even born, and then he came to collect, simple as that. There was nothing you could’ve done to change it.”

“And there it is, boys,” Crowley chimed in suddenly, looking pleased as punch. “Sammy gets the gold star.”

Pulled from the moment by the interruption, Sam glared at the demon over Dean’s shoulder in annoyance. “What are you on about now?”

“The answer to your riddle, quick one. Thing is, John never blamed your brother for Mary’s death. Not directly, anyway.”

 _That_ caught Dean’s attention. He sat up straighter and broke away from Sam, his gaze daring Crowley to continue. “What would _you_ know?”

“It’s common sense, really. Like Moose said, you were four years old. Of course there was nothing you could’ve done. Even John wasn’t heartless enough to believe in such a thing.

“Truth is, the only person to blame for your mother’s death is Mary herself. If she hadn’t been so pathetically weak and predictable, Azazel wouldn’t have been able to manipulate her into making a deal, and none of this would’ve ever happened.”

The pain in Dean’s eyes quickly gave way to fury and he shakily rose to his feet. “Don’t you dare blame her for this!”

“Why not? She knew exactly what she was getting herself into. She grew up in the life, same as you boys, and she went and made the deal anyway.”

Dean’s head was spinning as it tried to make sense of the new information Crowley was throwing at him. “What do you mean she grew up in the life?”

Crowley sighed in annoyance. 

“This amnesia thing is really not doing your intelligence level any favors. Try to keep up, eh? Your mother was a hunter, as was your grandfather, and _his_ father before that, so on and so forth... One might call it a ‘family business’.”

“No,” Dean rejected automatically. “No, she was innocent. Dad was the one who started…”

“Crowley’s telling the truth, Dean,” Sam admitted quietly, giving his brother pause. “I know it sounds crazy, but we’ve actually seen her in action before, and she was amazing. Maybe even better than Dad.”

“So you’re tellin’ me she knew what Azazel was before she made the deal?”

Sam winced at the accusation, then nodded. “Yeah, she knew.”

“Then she had to have had a good reason.”

Sam slowly rose to his feet to stand by his brother’s side once more. “She did. She was saving Dad’s life.”

Dean looked up at him sharply. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“It’s kind of a long story, but at one point, Cas actually transported you back to the year 1973; the year Mom made the deal. You ran into Dad at a diner, followed him around town till he led you to Mom, then Yellow-Eyes showed up and possessed our grandfather. After that, he…”

“Hate to butt in here, kiddies, but we don’t have time to play twenty questions or rehash ancient history. Short answer is Azazel snapped John’s neck in front of Mary and used his lifeless body as leverage to get your mother to say yes to his deal. 

“Suffice it to say that Mary made her decision, knowing full-well what the consequences would be, and therefore, this business with John’s anger issues is entirely _her_ fault, not yours. The end.”

Dean just blinked stupidly at his brother for a moment. “You realize how nuts this all sounds, right?”

Sam huffed out a laugh. 

“Yeah, I do. That’s pretty much the same thing I said to you when you told me about it in the first place. But it happened, Dean. Every bit of it. Mom gave Azazel permission to come into our house, and then she got herself killed trying to stop him.”

Dean’s brain was throbbing in his skull enough to rival a Metallica concert but he rubbed at his eyes and fought through the fog, trying to reach a comprehensible conclusion to the fragmented pieces of his past.

Mom knew she was making a deal with a demon. She chose this life for us, and all the shit we’ve seen, all the pain we’ve suffered, all the bruises, scars, and broken bones… 

It was all her fault.

Dean shook his head in denial.

“No. If Azazel killed Dad right in front of her, then Mom didn’t have any other choice.”

“Of course she did!” Crowley shot back in frustration. “People _die_ , Dean! That’s the natural order of things! John was gone and she could’ve left it well enough alone, married some other shmuck and raised a couple bundles of joy without him, but she refused to let him go. 

“That one decision set you all down a path you otherwise would’ve never even dreamed of. The stupid monitor wouldn’t have made a bloody difference at that point.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean growled.

“He’s right, Dean,” Cas added apologetically. “When your mother kissed Azazel and sealed the deal, she chose her destiny. You may not remember right now, but when I sent you back to 1973, it was to prove to you that fate cannot be altered or tampered with. 

“So whether you turned that monitor back on or not, Mary was going to die that night. It was inevitable.”

Dean could feel a darkness growing in his heart, one that felt uncomfortably familiar. It was full of rage, hurt… And hatred. But for once, those emotions were not directed at himself, and that’s what terrified him the most.

He turned away from the others, gripping the edge of the bedside table for stability as he swallowed down the bile rising up the back of his throat.

“Look, you guys can believe whatever the hell you want, but as far as I’m concerned, Mom did what she had to do.”

Crowley scoffed at him.

“Of course you’d think that. Honestly, all you Winchesters are the same. Mary made a deal to save John, John made a deal to save you, and you made a deal to save Sammy. Multiple over the years, if memory serves, and with demons and angels alike. 

“Each and every one of you knew there would be consequences, but did that ever stop you? No, cause that’s just the Winchester way, and to Hell with the rest of the world, right? But if I were you, I’d be pissed that she took my childhood away and left me with that brute of a father of yours.”

More images flashed through Dean’s head, and he saw himself arguing with himself, which was beyond disturbing.

_“I get it. I’m my own worst nightmare, is that it? Kinda like the Superman III junkyard scene. A little mano-y-mano with myself…”_

_“Joke all you want, Smartass. But you can’t lie to me. I know the truth. I know how dead you are inside. How worthless you feel… I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see. I mean, you’re going to Hell and you won’t lift a finger to stop it. Talk about low self-esteem. Then again, I guess it’s not much of a life worth saving…”_

Dean’s grip tightened on the bedside table enough to bruise his palms and dent the sturdy wood, but it didn’t stop the memories from coming.

_“Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothin’ else. Daddy’s blunt little instrument. Your own father didn’t care whether you lived or died, why should you?”_

_“You son-of-a-bitch! My father was an obsessed bastard! All that crap he dumped on me about protecting Sam, that was_ his _crap! He’s the one who couldn’t protect his family! He’s the one who let Mom die! Who wasn’t there for Sam! I always was! It wasn’t fair! I didn’t deserve what he put on me, and I don’t deserve to go to Hell!”_

Dean hissed, bringing a hand up to the side of his head as two gunshots reverberated through his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut at the image of himself bleeding out against the wall, but was unable to block it out.

“Dean?” 

Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder again, but it wasn’t enough to ground him in the present.

Next thing he knew, he was in a cemetery, staring down at John’s grave, searching for guidance.

 _“Course I know what you’d say… ‘Go hunt the Djinn. It put you here, it can put you back. Your happiness for all those people’s lives? No contest.’ Right? But why? Why’s it_ my _job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero? What about us, huh? Mom’s not supposed to live her life? Sammy’s not supposed to get married? Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad?”_

Dean had always put his mother high up on an infallible pedestal. The woman was practically angelic in his eyes. She could do no wrong, so Dean could only blame his alcoholic father for what had happened to her, and for what he had put his boys through ever since.

But she had done that to him. John never used to drink before her death. He was a good ol’ military boy who was revered by the town and cherished by his family. He only turned to alcohol to help him through the pain of bereavement. 

And the abuse he had put Dean through over the years? That was simply an outlet for his grief and anger, something Dean could certainly relate to now that he knew the whole story. Even now, he was itching to put his fist through another wall.

“Dean, you still with me, man?” Sam tried again, this time getting a reluctant response.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just… processing.”

Sam rubbed his upper back gently in acknowledgement, then turned back to face Crowley.

“There’s still one piece of this puzzle that doesn’t make any sense,” he stated. “If what you’re saying is true, and Dad already knew about the deal and blamed Mom for making it, then why did he take it out on Dean all those years?”

“You can’t honestly be this thick, Moose… For one thing, he didn’t want to ruin his perfect image of Mary since that was all he had left of her. I’m sure you boys can relate to that. And of course, no one ever puts blame on the dead. It’s poor form.

“But above all else, who do you think Dean reminded him of, eh? Same blonde hair, same freckles, same eyes, same sass… He’s practically a mini reincarnation of the woman, and the closest John could get to settlin’ the score. But believe you me, he knew where the blame truly lied.”

_Mom did this to us…_

Dean was shaking now, leaning more heavily against the table in order to stay on his feet.

_"She got herself killed and left us to deal with Dad, who was no more than a broken shell once she was gone. His perfect wife, our perfect mom, the perfect family… All gone. And I had to be more than just a brother. I had to be a father, and I had to be a mother, to keep Sammy safe. And that wasn’t fair. And I couldn’t do it."_

If she had only known what that had been like for him… If she could’ve gotten a glimpse of the future and seen the devastation she was going to leave behind before she made that deal, would she still have made the same decision?

Dean had given up everyone and everything in his life that had ever made him happy in order to protect the greater good. 

But Mary… She had been selfish. And Dean hated her for it.

His ears were buzzing with white noise and his vision was swimming in and out of focus. Everything seemed to be spinning around him in slow motion.

Sam watched his brother sway for a moment, all the color leaving his face. “Dean? Hey, you alright?”

Dean’s chest was still expanding, but no air was getting to his lungs. His insides were on fire, but all he could feel was cold. And when he blinked, the whole room became encased in a red hue with black spots along the edges.

Then the next time he blinked, blood began to drip from his eyes.

“Dean? Oh god…”

Sam quickly reached out and drew his brother back into his arms, easing him down to the floor just as Dean’s eyes rolled back and his body began to seize. 

That’s when Sam saw the blood oozing out of his nose, mouth, and ears as well.

“Dean!”

TBC


	25. The Mother of All Hangovers

_Dean was dead._

_Eyes glazed over and staring up at nothing, blood all around him. He had fought for as long as he could, but the human body had limits, and Dean’s body had reached every single one of them._

_He was dead, and there was nothing Sam could do about it, except mourn._

Sam jolted awake in the hard plastic chair that he had pulled up to the side of his brother’s bed. 

Heart still pounding in his chest from the nightmare, he silently rose to his feet and checked on Dean for what must have been the twentieth time in the past two hours since he had crept down the hallway and snuck into his brother’s room.

The walls were just starting to brighten with warm hues as the sun slowly crested over the horizon and day broke, bathing Dean’s skin in an ethereal glow, putting some color back into his pale face.

He was so still again that Sam considered waking him just to be sure that the dream _was_ in fact only a dream. But after what the poor guy had been through, Dean needed all the rest he could get...

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

_Four minutes and twenty-three seconds._

__

__

_That was how long Dean had convulsed against the hard, unforgiving cement floor of his bedroom. His blood, which continued to stream out of every orifice, had turned to a viscous black ooze and pooled sluggishly onto the ground beneath him._

_Sam could only guess that the ectoplasm-like substance was the curse finally being expelled from his brother’s body._

_But the sounds… Those were the worst part. It was like Dean was choking on his own pain and blood, torn between gagging and screaming._

_Flecks of black goo sprayed from between his tightly clenched teeth as the convulsions forced him to cough, most of which ended with choked-off whimpers._

_Sam knelt down next to his flailing brother, feeling utterly useless as he tried his best to cushion Dean’s thrashing head._

_“It’s okay, Dean. I’m right here. Don’t fight it. Just try to breathe.”_

_He kept up a steady litany of words, more to keep_ himself _calm than his brother as he wasn’t even sure Dean could hear him._

__

__

_“Please don’t leave me, Dean. I still need you, big brother. Please, just… Just open your eyes…”_

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

That had been three days ago.

Sam hadn’t felt that terrified since the night he had watched those Hellhounds rip his brother apart and drag his soul to Hell. 

He couldn’t lose Dean again. Not like that.

Cradling his brother’s face in his hands, Sam had counted every painful second as they ticked by, hoping that the older man would just snap out of it and tell him to get the hell off of him. 

No chick-flick moments allowed, after all, even when Dean was on the verge of dying. The man had a reputation to uphold.

But when the seizing had finally stopped, Dean hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t opened his eyes. Hadn’t made another sound. His previously animated body had fallen completely still. 

Lifeless.

Even the bleeding had stopped just as suddenly as it had started, though it had left dark red and black lines across Dean’s cheeks and temples like masochistic war paint.

Sam had thought his brother had officially given up the fight, but he should’ve known better. Dean had made him a promise, and he never broke them. _Ever_.

And yet, Sam still couldn’t get that macabre image of Dean out of his head. So for the past three nights, he had ended up wandering into his brother’s room in the early morning hours just to prove to himself that Dean _was_ still breathing and on the mend.

He hadn’t meant to drift off in the chair by the bed, but he was completely exhausted. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept more than two hours in a stretch. 

The nightmares had made sure of that.

He was going to have to make a big pot of coffee soon to survive the rest of the day, but for the moment, he was content to just stand there and watch as his brother’s chest rose and fell steadily beneath the cotton sheet draped over him. 

It didn’t take long before Sam started to match the comforting rhythm of Dean’s breathing, feeling his racing heart slowing back down to a more natural pace.

That is, until Dean shifted a bit with a groan, then went stiff.

Sam held his breath, knowing that his brother had just sensed his presence in the room. And when Dean let out a heavy sigh, the younger man knew he had been busted.

“Damn it, Sammy… You’ve gotta stop hoverin’ like that, dude. It’s creepy.”

Sam blushed and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, head hanging in shame. “I know. Sorry. I was just… worried.”

Hearing the misery in his brother’s voice, Dean forced his heavy-lidded eyes open and rolled his head towards the younger man, squinting up at Sam until the blurry mass came into focus.

He took in Sam’s slightly thinner frame and the bruising around his eyes, both of which proved to him that his little brother hadn’t been taking care of himself since this whole mess had begun.

He frowned, easing himself up onto his elbows with a grimace so that he could address Sam more properly as his big brother instincts took over.

“Look, I get it, alright? I do. I did the same thing with you after Jake…” _stabbed you in the back._ Dean swallowed hard against the memory, then continued. “After what Jake did to you in Cold Oak. But you’re startin’ to look worse than _me_ , man. You should be in a bed, catchin’ up on some well-earned Zs.”

A mischievous glint filled Sam’s eyes and he smirked down at his tousle-haired brother. “Fine then. Scoot over.”

Without waiting for a response, Sam slid onto the edge of Dean’s bed, careful not to jostle him too much, and rested his back against the headboard contentedly. 

They hadn’t shared a bed since Sam’s first major growth spurt which turned him into a lanky octopus when he was a teen, but somehow it felt like coming home. 

There were only two places in this world where Sam felt safe; in the Impala, and by Dean’s side.

The older man simply rolled his eyes at him, like any good big brother would do. 

“ _So_ not what I meant, dude,” he muttered begrudgingly, but he slid over a bit more to make room just the same. “Alright. But if you start snorin’ or hog the sheets, I’m kickin’ your ass onto the floor, Sasquatch.”

“Hey, _I’m_ not the one who snores.”

“Oh, right. My bad. You’re as quiet as a church mouse. Or, you know… A friggin’ freight train.”

Sam huffed out a laugh. “Shut up, jerk.”

Dean snuggled back down into his pillow and let his eyes fall closed again. “You first, bitch.”

Sam was grinning like an idiot, finally feeling some of the weight from the past week lifting off his chest. He had missed trading barbs with Dean. Hell, he had missed _Dean_.

They had cut it way too close this time. 

Looking down at his brother, who was on the verge of falling back asleep, Sam couldn’t help but flash back to when the curse had finally broken.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

_Once the seizing inevitably stopped, Sam was terrified to check his brother for a pulse, convinced that he wouldn’t find one. But when his shaking fingertips registered the faint, but erratic, beat just below the surface of Dean’s pale throat, he sent out a silent 'thank you' to the man upstairs._

_Dean was alive. He was_ alive _._

_Overcome with relief, he clutched at Dean’s shoulders, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against the older man’s sternum, feeling the shallow but steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest._

_Sam had endured every emotion the human body was capable of feeling within those five painstakingly long minutes- not to mention the absurdly high stress levels he had been under during the past few days since it had all began- and at that moment, he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to laugh, cry, scream, or punch something._

_But when Dean let out a low groan and finally began to stir, the crying option won out because, honestly, Sam just didn’t have the strength left to keep those floodgates closed anymore._

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Even now, he could feel his eyes welling up again just from the memory alone, which was primarily the reason he didn’t see the pillow flying directly towards his face until it was too late.

“What the hell was that for?” he demanded of his brother once he had recovered from the initial shock of the impact.

“Cause you’re thinkin’ too damned loudly,” Dean mumbled back, eyes still closed, though there was a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips now.

Sam scoffed at him, but then tried his best to relax and clear his head. One thought kept plaguing him though, refusing to give him peace.

“Hey, Dean?”

Dean grunted a tired response that sounded vaguely like an irritated “What?”

Sam watched his brother tentatively. “How much do you remember? You know, about everything you’ve been through over the past week.”

When Dean had first woken up on his bedroom floor, scantily clad with his brother hovering over him, he hadn’t remembered any of it. But then he caught sight of Crowley and Cas by the door, and suddenly the horrors of his past came flooding back in.

He remembered every gruesome detail. Every spike of pain. Every embarrassing whimper that had left his lips. And no amount of therapy was ever going to make that okay.

He sighed heavily and cracked his eyes back open to find Sammy staring back at him expectantly.

He thought about telling Sam the truth, he really did. But his brother had already endured more than enough on his behalf, so he fudged the details a bit.

“Not much. I think I ran into Rowena at a bar, and then I was waking up on my floor, askin’ you for pants. She must’ve roofied me or something, cause the rest is pretty hazy.”

Sam looked worried at first and Dean was afraid he had made the wrong decision, but then his brother nodded, looking content for the first time in days.

“Good. That’s probably for the best.”

“Yeah, I’m startin’ to get that impression.”

They both fell silent after that, and it wasn’t long before Dean’s breathing evened out again and Sam knew his brother had fallen back asleep. 

Not surprising really, considering Sam had finally forced him to take the good stuff to help keep the intolerable pain at bay.

As to what Dean had said about his memory loss, Sam knew he had been lying. He wasn’t the only one suffering from nightmares, and when Dean was on the strong meds, he had a tendency to talk in his sleep. 

From what he could tell, Dean remembered _everything_.

But now he knew that his brother didn’t want to discuss what he had been through, and for the time being, Sam was willing to grant him his wish. 

Part of Dean’s healing process would be to rebuild all the mental and emotional walls he had knocked down since this disaster had first started. But when and if Dean was ever ready to open up more about his past, Sam would be there, ready to listen.

He let his burning eyes fall closed, succumbing to his body’s demand for a break. Maybe a little more rest wouldn’t hurt…

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

_When Sam’s brain registered that his brother was waking up, he lifted his head from Dean’s chest and watched his face with bated breath._

_Dean was a mess and in desperate need of a shower, but when he slowly blinked up at Sam in confusion, it was the most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen._

_His brother was alive, and that was all that mattered. The rest they could deal with in time._

_“Hey, Dean. You with me?” Sam asked softly, noting the fear and disorientation on his brother’s gore-streaked face as Dean glanced around the room, taking in the recent destruction caused by his violent fit, as well as his two visitors lingering awkwardly over by the door._

_“S’m?” the older man ground out weakly, flinching at the burning in his throat caused by the choking and screaming. He shifted slightly and it hurt like hell, but he was able to latch onto his brother’s forearm, desperate to get his undivided attention. “S’mmy…”_

_Sam leaned down further so he could hear Dean better. “I’m right here, buddy. What do you need?”_

_“You… You p-promised me…”_

_The younger man frowned in confusion, searching his memory for something he might’ve said to Dean over the past few days, but he came up blank. “Promised what, Dean?”_

_“I t-talked…” Dean gasped out, his grip on Sam’s arm getting tighter as he fought through a significant wave of pain. “You owe m-me.”_

_If anything, that just confused Sam more. Dean talked? So Sam owed him…? And then it hit him. Even on the verge of unconsciousness, Dean was still asking for his damned pants._

_Sam couldn’t help it. He started giggling like a crazed five-year-old on a sugar-high and gently pulled Dean into his arms._

_Dean’s entire body tensed at the contact, and Sam realized belated that his brother might not want to be touched after all the horrors he had just relived._

_Feeling guilty, he started to pull away, but then to his surprise- and elation- Dean’s arms slowly came up and wrapped around his back, returning the embrace._

_Dean’s skin was warm to the touch, but not boiling hot like he had been before. The fever had finally broken, and along with it, the curse._

_“’s okay, Sammy. It’s over now.”_

_With that, Dean’s eyes fell closed again as he gave in to the exhaustion, passing out in the safety of his brother’s arms._

_The next twenty-four hours had been touch and go for Dean. He never stayed awake for long, mostly because Sam was keeping him on a tightly monitored drug regimen to help him heal faster._

_It was a testament to how poorly Dean was feeling that he didn’t even protest the meds, willing to take anything to help ease the pain and suffering a bit._

_But when he choked on one of the horse-pills Sam had given him, doing more damage to his already strained throat and upsetting his broken ribs, Sam had switched him over to injections until Dean was well enough to sit up and take the capsules properly._

_Thanks to all the crap he had been through recently, Dean’s immune system had been completely destroyed. And after spending a cold night in the woods that ended with him drowning and hypothermic, Sam was amazed his brother hadn’t contracted pneumonia yet._

_As a cautionary measure, Sam sat in the hard plastic chair the entire first day, doing his best to clean Dean up, patch all of his new wounds, and keep his brother from getting out of bed until Cas showed up on the second day to relieve him._

_He was in the process of preparing the next injection when Dean started to stir. His face was pinched with pain and a low whine emanated from deep in his throat._

_“Hang on, Dean. Almost ready…”_

_Sam reached for his brother’s exposed arm, but then Dean’s eyes snapped open, the whites of them completely masked by black, and he latched onto Sam’s approaching wrist with a bone-breaking strength, keeping the needle at bay._

_Sam froze in horror as Dean quirked a deranged smile at him._

_“Hiya, Sammy…”_

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

“Sam! Sam, wake up!”

Sam jerked awake with a gasp, instinctively pulling his wrist out of Dean’s hold and shoving him away as he lunged off the bed, stumbling when his half-paralyzed legs nearly dumped him onto the floor.

Dean hissed in pain and curled into himself a bit, but somehow still managed to hold his hands up in a placating gesture. “Easy, easy! It’s just me, Sammy.”

It took a moment for Sam to register the fact that his brother’s eyes- while red and puffy- were far from black. It had only been another nightmare. 

“You good?” Dean asked softly, his tone laced with concern as he watched Sam carefully. 

The older man still wasn’t moving, his hands up and most of his weight resting on his right elbow so that he could face Sam. 

It was clear from his pale and drawn appearance that the position was causing him a fair amount of pain, but he didn’t dare risk spooking Sam with any further movement until he knew his brother was truly awake and aware of his surroundings.

Sam nodded, giving his throat an extra second to unclench before muttering, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Uh huh...”

Sam let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair, the reality of the situation finally dawning on him as he watched his brother slowly lower his hands in favor of cradling his throbbing ribs with a wince.

Sam knew for a fact that he had elbowed his brother there in his attempt to get away quickly.

“Crap. Dean, I’m so sorry, man.”

Dean shook his head dismissively. “Forget it. Wasn’t your fault.”

“Are you alright? Can I get you an ice pack? Or maybe some more meds? You’re probably due for another dose by now…”

Dean chuckled, relaxing back down onto the mattress as the initial wave of pain receded. “Think you’ve doped me up enough already, doc. I’m fine, seriously. Just do me a favor and don’t mention this little incident to Cas, okay?”

When the angel had stopped by the day before to check up on Dean’s progress, he was ecstatic to see him awake and lucid for longer periods of time, albeit clearly looking worse for the wear. 

But more importantly, Dean had remembered Cas and all their history together, which led to an overly-enthusiastic embrace that made the older Winchester yelp and recoil in pain.

Cas had apologized profusely, then took it upon himself to be Dean’s caretaker for the remainder of the day, putting some of his extensive collection of supplies to use, much to his patient’s displeasure.

Sam was actually surprised by how much mothering Dean had tolerated from the two of them, including one of Cas’ infamous sponge baths, which amused Sam to no end. He figured Dean’s lenience was mostly due to his brother’s lack of energy to fight them off.

Well, that and the heavy drugs.

But when Dean complained that he had to take a piss and Cas appeared with a bedpan that he had found amongst the extensive medical supplies in the bunker’s basement, Dean drew the line and threatened to banish the angel back to Heaven if he brought that contraption any closer to him.

So instead, Sam took it upon himself to shuttle his brother back and forth to the closest bathroom when necessary, making sure Dean didn’t put any pressure on his injured leg. But other than that, Dean was still forbidden to leave the bed on his own until further notice.

The angel had every intention of staying by Dean’s side until his friend no longer needed the assistance, but Sam caught his brother’s pleading look and managed to convince Cas to let Dean sleep through the night in peace.

No doubt Cas would be joining them again soon though, picking up right where he had left off by concocting some random, foul-smelling herbal remedy to help heal the older Winchester's extensive injuries. 

Dean cringed just on principle, then shook himself mentally so he could concentrate on the situation at hand. Considering how over-the-top attentive the angel had been already, what Cas didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Sam nodded his acknowledgment to Dean’s request of keeping the angel out of the loop when it came to any possible re-injuries committed on his behalf. It was the _least_ he could do, after all.

Then he slumped back into the chair he had been occupying earlier, afraid to get any closer to his brother for fear of causing him additional harm.

He pinched the bridge of his nose before pressing his thumb and forefinger against his clenched eyelids to push back the intense headache that always came with lack of sleep, coupled with an adrenaline rush.

“You wanna tell me what had you so spooked?” Dean asked, his tone void of emotion, for which Sam was grateful. Dean wasn’t demanding that Sam talk, or pitying him for his outburst. He was just offering to lend an ear in case Sam wanted to vent.

“Not really,” Sam replied honestly, dropping his hand down to his lap so that he could lock eyes with his brother and let his weary expression do all the talking for him. “Just another stupid nightmare to add to the ever-growing list.”

Dean studied him for a moment before a nostalgic smile slowly spread across his face.

Sam frowned warily at his brother’s unexpected reaction. “What?”

“Nothin’. Just… Remember when you were knee-high to a grasshopper and kept havin’ those nightmares about Plucky Pennywhistle comin’ after you?”

Sam shuddered at the thought. “Gee, thanks for _that_ image…” he groused, though he was starting to smile at the memory too in spite of himself.

“Every night for like three weeks straight, you’d walk over to my side of the bed and stare at me without sayin’ a damned thing, just hopin’ that I’d wake up and see you standin’ there. Used to scare the hell outta me, man.”

Sam huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well… Kept you sharp, didn’t it? Besides, I didn’t want to risk wakin’ Dad up.”

Dean scoffed. 

“Back then, he spent most nights half in the bag anyway. I doubt he would’ve heard a bomb going off right next to his bed, let alone heard you callin’ for me from less than a foot away.”

“True. 'Father of the Year', right? All I knew was that whenever he stumbled his way back to our motel room in the middle of the night, any sound we made usually resulted in him tryin’ to hurt you.”

The smile faded from Dean’s eyes as his mind began traveling down a road he definitely didn’t want to revisit. 

“Can’t say I was a fan of his methods, but he did the best he could.”

Sam shook his head at Dean in disbelief. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Dean blinked away the thoughts of his troubled past, then refocused on Sam, quirking an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“I don’t get it, man. After all the shit he put you through, right up till the day he died, do you really think he still deserves your loyalty? I’m startin’ to believe you might be suffering from some form of Stockholm Syndrome or something.”

Dean huffed in annoyance. “Give it a rest, Sam.”

“I’m serious, Dean! Your whole life, you hero-worshiped the guy like he was the second coming. And all you ever got in return were black eyes, split lips, broken bones, and concussions. How can you still defend him, after everything he…?” 

“Because it wasn’t his fault.”

“What wasn’t?”

“Any of it.” 

Sam scoffed incredulously. “I’m pretty sure his conscious decision to drink qualifies any resulting abuse as his fault, Dean.” 

“That’s cause you don’t know the whole story.”

“If you’re about to tell me he was possessed, that was only the one time. It hardly excuses the rest of them.”

“No, Sam,” Dean practically growled. “I wasn’t gonna say anything about the demon. Dad had his own reasons for doing what he did, and so did I.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“You really think Dad was fast enough, let alone coordinated enough, to catch me when he could barely see straight? Give me a little credit, dude.”

“So you’re sayin’ you _let_ him beat the shit outta you, is that it? Kinda like how you _let_ Randy take advantage?”

“That’s not even _close_ to the same thing, but yeah. A lot of the time, I _let_ Dad catch me.”

Sam was clearly not convinced. “And why the hell would you do that?”

“It’s not rocket science, Sammy. Do you remember how it felt after Jess died?”

Sam’s throat immediately closed up again at the unexpected mention of his deceased girlfriend, so the best he could manage was a short nod. 

“Mom and Dad were married for eight years, man. _Eight years._ Mom was the glue that kept our family together, and without her…” 

Dean trailed off with a shake of his head. 

“Dad unraveled. The pain was too much for him to take, so he started drinking. It was the only way he could sleep through the night without seein’ nightmares of Mom burnin’ on the ceiling. 

“That kinda pain… It eats away at you until every nerve feels raw. Until lashing out at something, or someone, takes the edge off a bit.” 

“And that someone just had to be you, is that it?” 

Dean shrugged. 

“I had to do _something_ , Sammy. He was tail-spinnin’, and I was terrified we were gonna lose him too. So I confronted him one night when he was ten sheets to the wind. I said some awful things about him bein’ a lousy father, and next thing I knew, I was pickin’ my baby teeth up off the ground. Pretty sure a few of them were already loose anyway.”

“Jesus, Dean…”

“But afterwards, he stumbled his way to a corner and passed out. The next morning, he was Dad again. He took us to the local fair, bought us ice cream, and read you your favorite book till you fell asleep. 

“I don’t think he remembered anything about the night before, but a weight was finally off his shoulders and he could breathe again. He could _smile_ again. We had Dad back, and that’s when I knew every bruise and busted lip from that point on would be worth it.”

Sam ground his teeth together against the pain and anger that were consuming him. He wanted to blame John for how messed up his brother was, but that wouldn’t have been fair. Sam was no better, and he knew it.

How many times had he slammed his brother against a wall in a fit of rage? How many times had he punched him, walked away from him… Hell, he even shot him a few times while under a demon’s influence. 

But Dean never fought back. He took the punishment like he somehow deserved it, and never once asked for an apology. It was as though he thought taking beatings was somehow part of his job; part of his responsibility when it came to protecting his family.

And considering how they had grown up, Sam could see why he’d believe that.

All that weight… All that _burden_ on his shoulders that Dean had been carrying around for decades, and not _once_ did he complain or throw his hands up and say screw it.

Sam was still staring at him with something akin to pity in his eyes. “Like I said, Dean… Stockholm Syndrome.”

The older man glared at him. “Shut up, dude.”

"Can we just agree that from now, you give the baddies the beatings, instead of taking them yourself?"

Dean pursed his lips, considering the proposal. "I reckon I can make that work..."

Sam huffed out a forced laugh, then stood. “Good. I’m gonna hit the shower. You need anything?”

“Yeah. A big, fat, juicy burger.”

Sam grimaced in disgust. “Dude, it’s like seven in the morning.”

“I don’t know what to tell ya, man. The stomach wants what it wants.”

As grossed out as he was, Sam had to admit he was thrilled Dean was starting to get his appetite back.

“Alright. Hang tight then. I’ll be back in a little bit. And don’t get any bright ideas while I’m gone… Cas’ll be here any minute.”

Right on cue, the angel appeared in the doorway, homeopathic remedies in hand and ready to go.

“Good morning, Dean. How are you feeling today?”

Dean snorted at his friend’s professional tone, no doubt something else he picked up from watching medical soaps on TV. “Like I have the mother of all hangovers, but I’m pretty sure there’s only one cure for that.”

“A greasy pork sandwich served up in a dirty ashtray?” Sam supplied, and Dean let out a genuine laugh that somehow made the bruises on his face seem a little less dark.

He still had a long road ahead of him, but there was no denying that he was on the mend.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Three more days went by in the same manner, with Sam sneaking into his brother’s room but keeping his distance. Until Dean was startled awake from a nightmare of his own to find Sam dozing in the hard chair once again.

“Sam,” he called out to wake the younger man up. And as soon as Sam’s disoriented gaze landed on him, Dean patted the mattress next to his hip and scooted back a bit.

Sam didn’t move at first, weighing the pros and cons and worrying about what would happen if he got violent in his sleep again, but Dean was insistent.

“Get your ass over here, dude. Don't make me get out of this bed to come and get you.”

Threat heeded, Sam tentatively perched himself on the edge of the bed, then laughed when Dean wrapped an arm around his stomach and pulled him down.

“Sleep, you freak,” Dean muttered before following his own advice. And for the first time in days, they both managed to sleep peacefully.

After two weeks and a close inspection of his bad leg, Sam finally relented and allowed Dean to hobble around the bunker on his own. The vamp bite in his shoulder was no more than a scar again, and most of his bruising had faded to yellow or disappeared entirely.

The broken ribs took a bit longer, but after spending a month pent up in their home, Dean was going stir crazy and desperately needed to get out before he started reenacting _A Beautiful Mind_.

The first time he had stepped outside and felt the sun on his face and the light breeze through his hair, Dean felt human again. But unfortunately, he hadn’t told Cas that he was sneaking out for a bit and the angel was far from amused.

“Cas, I can explain…”

Cas grabbed Dean’s arm and all but dragged him back inside, seeking out Sam for the sole purpose of tattling on Dean. “Ease up on the death-grip there, Kung Fu Panda,” Dean grunted, reluctantly allowing his friend to lead him to his doom. “Use your words.” Another two weeks, and Dean was willing to fight Sam if that’s what it would take to get some freedom. Thankfully, it wasn’t going to come to that.

“Fine. We can hit the road, but no hunting for a few more weeks at least.”

Dean was so relieved that he was going to see Baby again, that he didn’t care about his brother’s little caveat. At least they were going to be getting out of the bunker, and if Dean happened to find something strange in a town’s local paper, they would have no choice but to look into it, right?

Dean stepped out into the cool autumn air and ran a hand reverently along the Impala’s frame.

“I missed you, Baby…”

Sam smirked at him as he loaded up the trunk with their bags. “Should I give you two a minute?”

He pulled the keys from his pocket and headed for the driver’s side like he had been doing for the past two months but Dean snagged the keys and cut him off.

“I don’t think so, Sammy. You’ve had your fun, now get your ass in the car. We’re burnin’ daylight.”

They waved to Cas as they pulled away from the bunker and Dean smiled contentedly as he stepped on the gas and listened to the engine roar before cranking up the radio.

Aerosmith’s “Back in the Saddle” was playing and Dean felt compelled to belt it out, much to his brother’s feigned mortification. Secretly, he was thrilled to hear Dean enjoying himself again.

“I’m back in the saddle again… I’m _back!_ ”

And as he caressed the Impala’s steering wheel and settled perfectly into her warm, leather seat, he couldn’t help but think _'Damn straight.'_

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the final chapter! Thank you all for reading, as well as for the kudos and comments! I'll continue to transfer my older stories from FF.net to AO3 as time allows if anyone out there is interested in reading more!


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